Garden of Eden
by ricecooker2000
Summary: He flew in that night. An eagle with broken wings, and she cannot help but save him. [Complete] [Sequel "Serpent's Apple" Posted]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters. Although I would like Altair bound and delivered to my front door... sigh.

Update: Book cover drawn by the awesome WendyDoodles on DA. Used with permission of course. :D

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Chapter 1

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The vermilion sun is setting over the quiet, sand-tinted rooftops of Damascus. People are hurrying off the streets, mothers are beckoning for their mischievous children to come back home, and merchants are preparing to close shop. Within the central courtyard of the Souk, the bustling sounds of activity are scurrying to and fro. One set of voices stands out however, where one named Tamir is arguing with a merchant. His high status emanates from his richly embroidered clothing to his perfectly manicured fingers. His guards, emotionless and blank-faced, are stationed throughout the courtyard, and watch from afar as their employer ruthlessly deals out that which he is well known for: death.

"No! Stop!" A frantic voice begging for life. The lowly merchant clutches at his stomach wound and turns pleading eyes up to the dealer.

"Stop? I'm just getting started!"

The blade tears through flesh over and over again. Blood gushes out from his multiple stab wounds, and the merchant can only beg for mercy.

Civilians have long since left the place. There is no one to save him.

The unfortunate man slumps over into a trickling fountain, staining the water blood red. As his dying eyes lift upwards towards the sky, he catches a flash of white.

_Is that an angel?_

Convinced that the white-robed man crouching on the beams overhead is a divine messenger, the merchant sends out a last prayer to the silent watcher before he succumbs to death's embrace.

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The bells of assassination have been ringing for quite some time now. The girl groans in frustration as she buries herself in the linen blankets. The peals of the bells have been going on since early evening, and it is already dark. She has been working hard since the break of dawn, and all she wants now is restful sleep.

_If they can't find the killer by now, they might as well give up_ she scoffs darkly.

Finally giving up on rest, Jin storms her way across her makeshift bedroom to her usual spot by the stool. She steps onto the stool on tiptoe, and pushes open the wooden cover of her sole window to the night sky. Getting Mama Kalthum to install this crude window on the roof had been no easy task. At the price of a month's worth of extra chores and washing that detestable woman's feet every night. Jin grimaces at the memory.

However, as Jin basks in the silvery moonlight greeting her stars, she swears it is worth it. It is already bad enough she does not get her own room, but to live in the attic where there are no windows; that would just be too unbearable. Plus, the light from outside replaces the need for candles.

Minutes pass in silence as the slight girl enjoys her quiet moment with the crescent moon and stars. Jin realizes with a start that the bells have stopped. She was about to pull the string to shut the window, but on a capricious whim decides to leave it open. The night air is balmy and a nice change to the stale mustiness of the attic, and she quietly slinks back into her modest cot.

Before she even gets to close her eyes, frantic shouting from outside reach her ears. Bolting upright, Jin clutches her blanket as a shadow appears from the open window. Too shocked to even make a sound, the girl stares as a man leaps down into the room. One of his arms grasping his side, the robed figure collapses as soon as his foot touches the floor, and he lands with a thump.

Her eyes wide with fear, Jin could only sit there and stare at the unmoving pile of white robes. The smell of blood reaches her sensitive nose, and it freezes her to the spot.

"Where is he? Did you see where he went?"

Loud voices from the distance pierce through Jin's dazed senses, and she promptly springs into action. Leaping out of the bed, she dashes to the opening and quietly but swiftly shuts the wooden cover. Not a second later, heavy footsteps pound across the roof.

Her hands finally releasing the wood, Jin slumps down to the floor with her blood pounding through her chest. She forces herself to take deep breaths to calm down. She has no explanation for what she did. Just acted on instinct. Years and years of hiding, acting, of behaving with discretion taught her to avoid conflicts at all costs. Her way is to avoid the guards: rowdy, corrupted individuals who dare call themselves protectors when all they do is to pick at the weak like hungry vultures.

The rational part of her mind clicks back in, and gently reminds her of the unwanted consequences of officials at Kalthum's doorstep. While she detests living in a house of ill-repute, this is the closest she has come to having a home and she owes her life to that foul-tempered hostess. Furthermore, no matter what the situation, it will still look like she is harboring a criminal. Alone, in the dark with no other alibis, she shall be sent to the execution ground along with the unconscious man if those guards catch them together.

Gradually, her attention is drawn back to the criminal lying by her feet on the floor. She kneels, lowers her head, and hears faint, labored breathing. She notes the various weapons adorning his entire body, from the metal gauntlets, the sheathed swords, and the throwing knives which fell out during his ungraceful landing littering the floor. He is obviously a murderer. As if the stench of death does not tell her enough.

_What do I do?_ Her mind cries out in despair. _He's still alive! I don't know if I can move this heavy body. But he's still alive! Should I turn him in?_

Jin bites her lip contemplatively. Cannot go to the officials, but she cannot get rid of him either. Tentatively, she reaches out a hand to shake the man awake.

He does not stir and makes no sound. She shakes him harder.

Still no response.

"How badly are you injured?" Jin whispers but receives no answers. With effort, she pushes him on his back, and gasps at the abundance of blood. Deep red stains her hands from the barest contact and it was all she can do to not cry out.

Jin debates with herself. Truthfully, she does not want this man to die. At least, not in this room and not under her watch. But the fact remains he's still a killer…

A groan of pain interrupts her musings. His lips begin to move deliriously. Unwillingly curious, Jin leans in closer.

"I'll save you…. Adha."

The yearning in his deep voice elicits a clenching feeling in Jin's chest. She looks down at his face, surprisingly young considering his occupation, with a sympathetic frown.

_Adha… a woman. His lover perhaps?_

Jin begins to picture a woman, young and beautiful, pining away for her lost lover. Just like those in the stories the brothel girls tell each other. Her compassionate nature overrides her rational mind, and with the decision made, Jin begins to undress the passed out man and tears his inner clothes for bandages.

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Altair knows when he's not in a familiar setting. Without opening his eyes, he can smell the stringent medicinal herbs nearby, hear the faint sound of voices coming from beneath him, and feel the softness of a bed.

He can also sense the other person in the room.

He kept his breathing steady and deep so as to not alert the other of his consciousness. The assassin strains his senses, trying to pick out any small details that will tell him more of this stranger.

Light footsteps and small strides suggest petite stature. The confidence emanating from the foot falls, as well as the assertive nature of movement indicates a man. So a young boy then. The slight wind as the youth pass him indicates a contained, closed room. A limited space. Perfect, no room for escape. By the warmness of air, it is daytime, probably early afternoon.

The assassin realizes his face is uncovered, and his weapons not on his person. His mind goes on full alert, and his muscles tensed unconsciously. As unknown hands descend upon the blanket and uncover his midriff, Altair reacts in the only way he knows how.

In a split second, he tackles the other to the ground with his right forearm pinning a small frame and his left hand at the jugular. Sharp pain erupts from his injured side, but his focus is unwavering.

"Make one move or sound and it'll be the end for you. Tell me, where is this place? And who sent you?" he snarls.

Frightened green eyes meet his, and he is surprised at the strands of hay colored hair peeking through the concealing turban.

"Please… you're hurting me…" the soft murmur reaches the assassin's trained ears and he has to stop himself from taking a double look.

A woman?

It is true, for he slowly realizes the chest that his arm is pinning to the ground is too pliable to be that of a man's, and the face too delicate. Earlier, the clothes and the firm footfalls all suggested a masculine presence and had him fooled. He gets up, ignoring the aching pain in his side, and watches the girl carefully.

"Your equipment and such, they're over there in that corner. And you're in my room. I haven't told anyone of your presence, so I think you should be safe for now." Jin readjusts her head wraps to conceal her hair, and dusts herself off. She regards him warily, as if any minute he might pounce on her again.

"Who are you? Why did you tend to my wounds?" His voice, although more even and calm, still strikes an equally intimidating note. The girl seems to have recovered from the earlier fright, and does not avoid his scrutinizing gaze, challenging him with her eyes of emerald.

"I do not feel the need to give my name. Especially to one that is as ill-mannered as yourself. As for tending your wounds, you should want me to just stand there and do nothing? It was you who chose this particular rooftop to intrude upon. You whose form lay in front of me dying. Pray tell, what will you have me do?"

Her defiant gaze holds his. The assassin dwells on her words carefully and recalls the events of last night. If it was last night.

The assassination did not go as smoothly as he thought. With his recent demotion and loss of his usual weapons, the process was much… problematic. After killing the target, the guards were too cumbersome to deal with, and he tried various ways to escape. He did manage to lose them somewhere near the poor district, but he got careless on his way back to the bureau. Guards snuck up on him, and before he could pull out the sword to block, they dealt out a serious wound. It wouldn't have been a problem, except for the running and leaping from rooftops that took place afterwards that eventually took its toll. No longer coherent due to the massive loss of blood, he managed to find the first opening that happened to be in front of him, and dove in.

And now he awakes to this. His side was neatly bandaged, and from the strong herb smell, expertly dressed to prevent infection. His outer clothes, although still stained with red, lies neatly with all of his equipment at the corner. His salvar and boots are still intact, but apparently his kameez was used for bandaging since it was nowhere in sight.

The girl (he refuses to believe this person is female) stands there looking at him. She's dressed in traditional men's clothing: loose trousers and a baggy, long-sleeve kameez. Her face is partially hidden by the scarf that winds around her neck, and her hair is hidden by a white keffiyeh. Anyone casually passing by would not spare her a second glance, and dismiss her as a frail-looking child.

The assassin stops his examination of his mysterious benefactor, and turns his attention to their surroundings. The room is small, not bigger than two wagons' width and height. Shelves with an assortment of bottles and containers cover the walls. There is hardly room for the modest bed that sits on the side next to the door. A stool sits in the warmth of daylight streaming from an opening in the ceiling.

"How many days have passed?" He asks as he starts to briskly don his robe.

"Two day and two nights. I thought you weren't going to make it… you really shouldn't push yourself. You injuries might reopen-," she trails off at the look he shoots at her.

"And risk discovery? I think I'll take my chances." With a final snap of the buckle, the man jumps and pulls himself through the open window. Gone in an instant.

Jin stares open-mouth at the man's hasty departure. One minute he was there, on top of her and threatening her life, and the next… gone! Hours of worrying, sneaking around, and neglecting her work to take care of this ungrateful inmate erupts in rare fury across her features. She storms out of the opening and onto the rooftop, intending to give him a piece of her mind. Her gaze scours the surrounding buildings, but the man is nowhere in sight.

She growls deep in her throat, and forgetting that there might be passersby below her, yells out, "Damn you! Next time I see you I'll make sure to call out to the guards and-"

A hand suddenly clamps down on her mouth.

"Quiet!" he hisses into her ear, so close that she feel his breath tickling her half exposed face. She struggles against his grip, but he holds firm and she glares at him with her furious green eyes; now even more incensed because she didn't hear his approach.

A quiet chuckle comes from inside the hood.

"I have never in my life heard a female swear so profoundly."

His rich voice trickles down her neck, making the hairs on her nape rise with apprehension. She is forgetting he is a murderer. One that is capable of taking her life in an instant. Why can she not be grateful that he was about to take his leave without a fuss?

"Forgive me for my rudeness. You have done me a great service. I owe you my life."

His hand releases its hold over her, delves into a leather pouch attached to his hip, and withdraws a single feather. During the entire exchange, Jin was very aware of how close the assassin is. She can feel his even breathing, the heat of his body, and more disturbing, the hardness of a sheathed knife at her back.

"Take this, it is a symbol of my gratitude. Use it with discretion."

In silence, he gently takes one of her hands and encloses her fingers over the token. A slight shiver passes through Jin's body as a breeze blow by. The girl looks down at the object in her hand. A beautiful eagle feather, mostly white but with a speckle of gray on the top.

"But how-" Jin turns around to face the man, but finds only empty air, "… do I use it?"

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Notes: WTF? I don't update my other fics but instead start a whole new one? I'll try not to get to plotty or involved with this one. Just read it like a collection of drabbles I guess. Don't expect regular updates. But I would love your feedback and suggestions.

I played the game recently and LOVED IT. The rich scenery, the way Altair just leaps, and the swordplay...sigh. The first scene is obviously describing Altair's first kill in Damascus. First kill should always be somewhat significant I think.

Jin is an OC. She's on the border of Mary Sue according to my beta reader. Damn.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Do not own Assassin's Creed or its characters. Or the Personal Altair Mailing Delivery Service. *snickers*

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Chapter 2

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Altair stalks out of the assassin's bureau with a headache.

First of all, he is behind schedule and Master is expecting him, meaning he shall have to ride twice as fast through the templar-ridden kingdom.

Second, the cryptic message which the slain target has left him with has his mind going in circles trying to decipher its true meaning.

_Tamir spoke of others. Brothers, he called them, and that I'll soon come to know them well. He also knows the workings of the Assassins, and referred to Al Mualim. I best speak to my Master of this._

Finally, he was careless enough to show his face to an outsider. Granted, situations were out of his control, but the fact the girl actually saw his face and can pick him out of a crowd… the second Creed has once again been broken.

He should have killed her on the spot. It was imperative that he kills her. But he did not. Or rather he cannot. For he has enough blood of innocents staining his hands.

He gently rubs his left temple, recalling the way those alert eyes had followed him and his every movement. Undoubtedly, the girl is no fool, and fortune must smiled upon him for she did not expose him. For that he is tremendously grateful. He does not know why he has given her that feather, but can only hope he will not have to compromise the Brotherhood anymore than he has already done.

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"Jin! Hurry up with the laundry and when you are done, go buy some meat from the marketplace!" Mama Kathlum's wheezing voice drifts faintly into the open courtyard.

"Yes Ma'am…" Jin calls. All but buried in dirty laundry, the girl resumes her tiresome chore with the unforgiving sun beating at her back. Since the last two days had been devoted to attending her injured charge, it is no surprise that she is now assailed with the work which has piled up in her absence.

A muted flush rises up in her cheeks as her mind begins to dwell on the strange event of the past few weeks. The man had practically flown in from the sky, and after recovering from her shock, she had methodically attended to his extensive injuries. There were minor scratches on his arms, but it was the gash on his side that most worried her.

Her cheeks begin to redden even further as she recounts undressing him. Never has she been in such close contact with someone of the opposite gender. And the mere idea of undressing …! Thank the heavens that he was unconscious for that provocative part…although a part of her felt extreme shame at her taking advantage of his defenseless state.

But her traitorous mind had already ingrained the memory. As she took off his outer robe and inner shirt, she could not help but admire the dark planes of his chest, so solid and well defined. The many scars criss-crossing themselves across his entire body: marring the otherwise physical perfection, yet creating a definition of their own.

She then turned her attention to his hands, in which heavy, metal gauntlets were secured by straps. As she carefully released the buckles, she noted with morbid fascination, a finger missing from his left hand. A wave of nausea surged through her as her hand tentatively brushed the puckered skin. His hands were calloused and rough, but the fingers were shapely and long, not unlike those of scribes and scholars. It was tragic that such graceful hands partake in taking lives.

Even more remarkable was his face, as she had to take off his hood, one that is so unlike what she expects a murderer's face to be. A stern, but not unpleasant face. Elegantly arched eyebrows offset by high cheekbones ending in a straight chin. A full, sinfully sensual mouth paired with a refined, aquiline nose completed the vision. Jin cannot but wonder how his face can be so beautiful, so alluring considering his occupation. Such a contradiction between face and character.

With the last of the bed linens scrubbed, Jin quickly makes her way to the drying ropes with her dripping basket. One by one she hangs the white sheets on the designated rope. When she finishes, she cannot help but watch them flutter in the breeze.

Just like a certain white robe.

It has only been a few weeks since that day, and she still cannot help but remember it as a dream. She goes about her daily tasks in a trance-like manner, her hands doing the work but mind somewhere else. It dwells on those hours that she has spent watching him sleep. She looked for signs of awareness, but his body and features remained still during the days and nights. Unhindered, she allowed her eyes to bashfully travel the span of his face, and down to the length of the body. As it happened many times before, her imagination ran away with her again, and she imagined how he will react when he awaken. She could see his handsome face gradually stir, and languidly open his eyes. He would thank her for his life, and asks how to repay her.

Oh how far the actual reality was.

She had felt her breath give way as he all but attacked her, and her back made contact with the hard floor. But that was nothing compared to the unyielding body that had hers firmly pinned. She faintly registered the fact he was using his entire weight to keep her down, and she has never felt more trapped and helpless as tawny gold eyes glare down at her like a predator, her breath escaping in painful gasps.

His face was so close to hers that she saw herself in that fierce gaze. She saw her brilliant blonde hair peeking through the shifted headdress. Numbly, she realized that she did not remember the last time she saw herself in a mirror, and was strangely enraptured by the alien image she saw in his eyes.

She had been but a gangly child, her hair unkempt and cheeks hollow due to lack of proper nutrition when she arrived at Mama Kathlum's. Now her face has lengthened into a pleasant oval. Her high cheekbones are framed by soft golden curls that stop short at her chin. The only features not altered by time are her clear, emerald eyes. She recalls someone once told her people blessed with green eyes are entitled to either extremely good fortune… or bad luck. As she reviews her own predicament at that moment, it must be the latter.

"Make one move or sound and it'll be the end for you. Tell me, where is this place? And who sent you?" When he spoke, it was in an animalistic snarl. So different from the gentle voice she had imagined him with.

Her breaths were stopped short by the weight of his arm at her chest, which Jin had to admit was very painful even if she had chest bindings.

"Please… you are hurting me…" she had managed to gasp out, and took in a lungful of air as the pressure gave way and she is released from the hold. Jin smugly took in his surprised expression. Not many can see through her disguise the first time.

It had taken her months to perfect the illusion. She had "borrowed" the discarded clothing of random customers, making careful adjustments here and there, with additional chest bindings, and initiated her transformation into a male. In the following weeks, she observed from the rooftops the various mannerisms of men. The way they would walk, how they would interact with others, their hand gestures, and their posture were all copied and perfected by her. Her true test came when she donned the altered garbs and gave a flawless impersonation of a traveling merchant in front of Mama Kathlum's door. It was only when she had taken off the scarf and concealing headwear that the old spinster recognized her.

Jin giggles at memory of the older woman with her eyes bugging out in shock and mouth open so wide she might as well be a toad gathering flies. Although it did take a lot more pleading and flattery afterward to appease Mama Kathlum and to have her accept the idea of letting her walk freely outside of the house.

Of course there are limitations. She would only be running errands for her mistress such as buying supplies and groceries or delivering messages. But it is still better than being cooped up in that attic. And none of the other girls were allowed this wonderful privilege.

With the last of the sheets drying on the ropes, Jin hurries out of the courtyard and out of the brothel. She takes a minute to savor the feeling of being outside, and leisurely makes her way to the bustling marketplace.

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"Come in Altair. You've done well. Three of the nine lay dead. For this you have my thanks. But do not rest on your laurels. Your work has just begun," announces the elderly, but proudly erect leader of the Creed as Altair kneels down before him.

"Give me names and I shall give you blood." Al Mualim smirks to himself at the edge in his subordinate's words.

"So I will. Abu'l Nuquod, the wealthiest man in Damascus; Majd Addin, regent of Jersusalem; William of Montferrat, liege lord of Acre."

"What are their crimes?"

"Greed, arrogance, the slaughter of innocents. Walk amongst the people of their cities. You'll learn the secrets of their sins. Do no doubt that these men are obstacles to the peace we seek."

"Then they will die."

As the assassin walk purposely out the hollow hall of Al Mualim's office, three white doves flies out of a window, bringing messages not of peace but death.

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There seem to be more guards than usual Jin quietly notes to herself. She walks carefully down the bazaar to the local butcher whilst keeping an eye on the patrolling guards. She must avoid them at all costs. The dangers of being caught as a man, and bringing trouble to Mama Kathlum, she will be beaten or even worse…

Jin suppresses the thought with a shudder and quickly walks along. Her eyes light up upon the sight of Muhsin, the loyal butcher who she always buys her meat from.

"Jin! Allah be blessed! My favorite customer!" Muhsin's strong voice bellows out.

"Sweet water and rain to you too Muhsin," Jin cannot help but smile.

"Well how may I be of service to you today? A lamb shank? A roasted goose? Remember, everything is half priced because of the celebration."

Jin curiously asks, "What celebration?"

"The merchant king's celebration of course! The renowned Abu'l Nuquod is throwing a grand feast tonight. Because of all that, business is soaring all around town and bargains are more plentiful than sands in the desert!"

Jin's eye brows perk up at the news.

_A feast? The gathering of drunken men partying will also mean more business tonight. Which means Mama Kathlum will be in a good mood…_

Jin takes out the note of orders and passes it to Muhsin. As the butcher carefully weighs a piece of meat, a rabble of commotion drifts from the other side of the marketplace.

"Tsk, this is what happens when they hire more guards. Like adding more ingredients than they should, trouble boils over like a sour stew," Muhsin gestures towards the gang of guards that are harassing a poor fruit vendor.

"Ha, Muhsin leave it up to you to bring up food," Jin affectionately teases with a pointed look at Muhsin's bountiful belly, "Why are there more guards than usual?" Her eyes drift towards the raucous group warily.

"Have you not heard? There have been a series of assassinations of important men. The word around here is that one single man has been responsible for all of them. Why just three days ago Talal the slave trader was murdered."

Jin's breath hitches at the mention of that name. She closes her eyes and tries to steady her breathing.

_Talal._

"Well here is your order. There is an extra set of chicken gizzard since your mistress is such a loyal customer."

"Thank you." The trembling girl barely manages to count out the correct amount of coins before leaving, forgetting to wave in parting.

_Talal. The slave trader who had sold me to the brothel. Killed._

Jin sucks in a deep breath and concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other. Her mind is racing with thoughts, all getting jumbled and mixed with each other.

_Many assassinations? By one man? …is it __**him**__?_

Forgetting to look in front of her, a solid arm roughly collides with her right shoulder. The leather bag in her hand tumbles to the dusty ground, spilling its contents.

"Excuse me," Jin mutters as she kneels down to salvage the pieces of meat.

"Oh? What is this?" A snide voice asks from above. The youth glances up, and freezes.

"Looks like someone does not know their proper place," retorts the guard that just ran into her.

Her lips, numb with terror and shock, refuse to utter the apology. It would not have been no use anyways. The group of guards, already rankled from their fight with the fruit vendor, close in on their new prey eagerly.

"Let's teach this boy a lesson."

The men snatch her up from the ground where she was kneeling. Their hands clamp down like iron on her shoulders as the head guard stand before her.

"How rude of you to touch my arm," he lectures in a clear, loud voice so that passerbys can hear, "without a proper introduction. What is your name?"

"J-Jinan." She meets his glare with one of her own. She purposely refuses to add the respective 'sir' that all common folk uses. It really does not matter since her life is now forfeit. The guards have never been ones to show mercy, and for her there is no exception.

"A disrespectful cur! Well, I think my arm will like to make its formal introduction too."

A fist slams into Jin's stomach. Hard.

She grunts in pain. The guard's fist is already drawing back, ready for the next blow. Jin shuts her eyes and prepares herself.

It never came.

Instead, screams and yells reach her ears. Jin opens her eyes, and gasps in shock.

The guard is lying face down on the ground. With a knife protruding from his neck.

The guards that were holding her release their hold, and draw their swords. Civilians scatter wildly from the bloody scene. Running, yelling, shouting in fear.

Her alert gaze catches two glints of metal zipping through the air. Without looking, she hears the two guards at her side slump to the earth.

Dead.

A gust of wind as he leaps down, and the assassin in white appears in front of her.

Swiftly, and without a word, he seizes her arm and drags her away from the murder scene. The stunned girl barely manages to keep up with his long strides, and keeps glancing back at the bleeding bodies.

After criss-crossing and double tracking numerous streets and alleys, he makes a sharp turn into a dark corner, and flattens her into the wall with his body. His right hand covers her mouth to silence her protests, and his head turns toward the open street. Not a few seconds pass before rapid footsteps approach their hiding place, and Jin can feel his entire person still.

"Where is the scoundrel?" Angry shouts fill the air.

Jin stops struggling and tries to be quiet. Even her breaths sound like a dead giveaway as her blood pounds in her ears. Jin glances up at the assassin. He is not looking at her but at the moving shadows of the guards. She never imagined that they would meet again in such circumstances. Even if his hand was not covering her mouth, she would still be at a loss for words. Jin just stares wordlessly at the silent profile of the killer in front of her. He's so close that she can see the texture of his face, feel the even movements of his chest, and smell the slight stench of blood from his hands.

Countless minutes pass. Too slowly the shouts of the men grow dim as they move onto another section of town.

As silence finally settles in, the assassin finally turns to look at her. The golden color of his eyes swallow her up in their intensity. His hand drops from her face, but she is the first one to break eye contact.

"My debt is repaid now. A life for a life." And with that, he turns and begins to walk away.

"Wait!" she calls out desperately, trying to find words to keep him longer, "I do not even know your name…I cannot even properly thank you."

The assassin stiffens. To ask for an assassin's name is folly by itself, but to answer her, truthfully, the consequences can be much worse. The Creed drums feverishly in his head. The start of another headache.

"Call me Altair."

"Altair," her lips slowly shape the foreign name, so delicately like a caress, "Thank you for saving me."

He nods and swiftly makes his way up a nearby wall and onto a rooftop. Before he does something even more foolish.

"Does that mean I will never see you again?" Her whispered words reach him despite the distance.

Altair stops, and slowly turns his head. His eyes, like the tawny eyes of a predatory hawk, pierces through her own. Jin suddenly feels as if she is being examined from top to toe, and her inner self bared for that knowing gaze. After what seemed like an eternity, a quiet smirk appears from the brim of the white hood and he was gone.

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Notes: Eh? Am I on a roll or what?

I have borrowed some lines directly from game script. Just to push things along.

Yes, I realize I have not revealed much about Jin, but in due time. Feel like the reader should discover things alongside of Altair.

Lol at my beta. She wrote "Edward Cullen status" next to the line where Jin watches Altair sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

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"Allah be with us. Mama is in such a bad mood today," sighs a young prostitute as she reclines upon the plush pillows.

"Jamilia, Allah has abandoned us a long time ago," retorts Leyla, the exotic Persian who has an impressive repertoire of clients "That is why we are whores. Besides, it is our bad luck that the merchant king's feast ended in disaster and there were no customers last night."

"Almost none," Sana, a chubby and mischievous girl giggles. She admires Leyla to the point of worship and one can always find her to the Persian woman much like a doting pet. "Oh Leyla, tell us of the handsome stranger you entertained last night."

The dark-haired beauty pouts her bountiful lips and replies back in her heavy Persian accent, "Please, I never tire of this topic. He was so… beautiful. Body like that of Adonis, and such a skillful set of hands…" There the surrounding women sighed. "Oh and afterwards, he gave me an extra set of coins and immediately took his leave. Hardly two words passed between us. Those silent types you know."

Giggling and hushed whispers drift from the pillow lounge and into Jin's mouse-like ears from her position in the hallway. It is early noon, and it was her turn to serve tea and refreshments to the girls. Her tea is very welcome amongst the sisters, for its taste as well as the medicinal purposes. She brews it with her own mixture of herbs which will prevent a woman from growing heavy with child.

"Such a shame that he insisted on keeping his face covered."

"Oh really? Do tell…"

"His outfit was that of a scholarly monk. But with all that muscle, it is ridiculous to believe that he is one. He kept most of his clothes on, and even when I went to take off his hood, he stayed my hand. Although, it really did not matter considering what happened afterwards…"

Her hand is gripping the tea kettle so hard that her knuckles turn bone white. Jin numbly registers that the cup is overflowing and it is only when the burning liquid spills into her other hand that she snaps back to reality. Quickly, she wipes up the mess and continues to pour into the remaining tea cups while paying rapt attention to the words of the gossiping women.

"Was it true that he actually requested a girl?"

A loud murmur grows. It is extremely rare that a customer requests a girl other than Leyla. The quiet Halimah, who has been silent during the entire discussion, finally speaks up.

"I heard him. The man said he wanted the girl with sand-colored hair and green eyes. Mama Kalthum managed to convince him such a girl does not exist, and he made to depart."

Jin can just imagine the way the Persian concubine is beaming with all the adoring attention she is receiving. And she cannot help but grit her teeth at the idea she was with _him_ for the entire night…

The youth steadies her breathing as she finally walks out of the hallway with the platter of food and steaming tea in her hands, and into the room with the chattering women, ready for the stares and pointed glances.

"I wonder why he was entertaining the idea of bedding Jin. I mean, look at that unhealthy figure…" Leyla drawls out. Jin shoots her a glare.

The Persian prostitute is Mama's biggest investment: she was bought at no cheap price. However, with her voluptuous curves, and a pair of lips that can sing praises all night, Leyla has already earned triple the amount she was bought for. It is no wonder Mama Kathlum spoils her and gives her everything she desires. Except for one thing.

Freedom.

It makes sense that she is jealous of Jin's liberty to come and leave the establishment. And she will not let the girl forget that for a second.

"How does he even know she is female in the first place?"

All eyes turn on the her, and Jin bits her lip. She quickly places a cup of tea in front of each girl and dodges their curious gazes. Her steps of retreat are short-lived however, as the influential prostitute snatches out her hand and grabs her wrist.

"Jin, my dear. Please do enlighten us." Leyla's voice is like sugary syrup. Sweet and entrapping.

"I…do not know of which you speak of."

"The man from last night obviously knows of you. How many fair-haired and green-eyed maidens exist in Damascus?"

"But I do not know him."

"Just think of the beating you will get from Mama…" Leyla's grip tightens perceptibly.

Jin takes great care to not show irritation in her voice. Any hint of ill ease will work to the older woman's advantage.

"Mama will do as she sees fit," Jin coolly replies, as she wrenches her arm from the death grip. Swiftly, she walks out of the room and retreats back to her room. She shuts the door quietly, and sinks to the floor, lightheaded from the unanswered questions swimming through her thoughts.

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She does not know it will start a ritual. Only that one day she does not close the rooftop window as she lays down for the night, and when she awakes, he is there. Watching from his perch.

Not daring to utter a sound, she slides off of the bed and approaches the shadow framed within the light of the window. She asks him if he wants to come in and eat some food. He accepts by leaping soundlessly onto the floor.

As they sit side by side on wooden stools, picking at the scant breakfast on her working table, Jin blurts out the question she has been meaning to ask.

"Were you here the other night?"

He nods, and does not elaborate.

"You requested a girl?"

Another nod. Another bite of the stale bread.

"Was it… me?" She breathes out in a bare whisper. Altair shows no reaction but finishes off the contents of his plate. He sets down the utensils carefully and turns to look at her.

"Yes. But they insisted you did not exist."

"And then they offered you another girl." She cannot keep the accusatory tone out of her voice.

"Yes."

A simple answer. One that offered no further explanation.

"Why?"

"Why not? I am a man…"

Jin blushes at his tone. She ducks her head and stares at her uneaten portion.

"How interesting that you are the one asking the questions when it is yourself who is shrouded in mysteries," the assassin, unruffled and in control, smoothly changes the subject.

"What do you mean by that?" the girl cautiously ventures.

Like a dangerous predator, he dissects her, finds the little chinks of weaknesses, and lays them out in the open.

"Why is a young girl in a brothel but not a prostitute? Why does she dress, talk, and behave like a man? Why is she allowed to venture outside when most of the women are not? Why does she live in a derelict attic adorned with nothing but medicine?"

She glances up at him, taking in his stern stance, his gaze, and those golden eyes demanding nothing short of the truth.

"It is… a long and complicated tale…"

"Which I hope to hear one day," Altair finishes smoothly for her.

"But why? Surely such one as yourself…" she falters, not sure how to approach the subject.

"Have more important matters to attend to?" He hints at his dangerous occupation, but like her, not quite touching on it. Altair smirks to himself. She is as sharp as a knife's blade.

"I have just completed my mission. How I spend the next few days is up to my discretion."

Jin swallows. A successful assassination. Another life taken, and the murderer is sitting there, sitting in her stool, eating her food, and calmly conversing with her.

"Why are you here?" she asks tentatively. Jin's not sure if she wants to hear the answer. Especially if it means at the cost of her life.

"Relax. I am not here for your life. That would be a waste my efforts of having taken the trouble to save you that day." The girl stiffens at his comment. It is as if he read her mind.

"I am just mildly curious about my mysterious benefactor. But it looks like you have questions for me as well. Under mutual understanding of secrecy, I propose us taking turns in asking them. Agreed?"

The quiet girl nods. This man is different from the one she rescued that day. The one who pinned her down roughly was tense, frightening, and dangerous. This is not the one who killed those guards in cold blood. The one who is sitting in front of her today is… almost approachable.

"Since you have already asked a fair share of questions, I shall start with mine. What is your name?" the man curtly asks with no pleasantries in his voice.

"I go by Jin."

"But that is not your real name," Altair guesses. Correctly, as the visible twitch from her left eye informs him.

Jin sighs and answers, "Jinan."

"Meaning garden? And it can be associated with both male and female. It is very fitting. Family name?"

The girl grits her teeth and bites out, "I have no family."

An eyebrow quirks at her tone, but that is all he does to acknowledge the touchy subject as he smoothly moves on.

"How did you come about to live at a brothel?"

"I have little recollection. I remember being sold to Mama Kathlum by a slave trader…" Jin cannot finish her sentence as her thoughts shift elsewhere.

"Talal! That no-good rotten piece of flesh! I heard he was murdered, could you have…were you the one… by any chance?" Her eyes look up at him earnestly.

The assassin is taken aback for a moment. The intensity, the sliver of hope that glimmers in her eyes slightly alarms him. Taking a measured breath, he answers simply, "Yes."

Jin closes her eyes solemnly. Those days under the slave trader's tyranny surface from the darkest region of her memories.

Cold, dank cages with chains that rust on fragile wrists. The disturbing moans and cries of the other captives that last through entire nights, never granting one a moment's rest. Worst of all, the face of her torturer. No matter how many years have passed, that horrid face surrounded by flames haunt her in dreams.

So lost she is in her recollections, she forgets about the even more dangerous man in the room.

"What is that?" Before she can react, his hand brushes aside hay strands of her hair, revealing the purpling bruise at her left temple. Jin hastily brush him away.

"It is nothing."

"You did not sustain this injury from the guards."

"No, I did not."

He waits patiently. Jin avoids looking at him. At those eyes. They can see right through her and pierces through her being with such ferocity, such intensity that she finds it hard to breath.

"I was beaten. By Mama Kathlum because I am not supposed to reveal my secret."

He digests this for a few heavy moments. Quietly, with no inflection in his voice, Altair asks, "Is it because I asked for you?"

She slowly nods.

"My apologies. I would not have done so if I knew it would cause trouble for you. I thought… you were a prostitute."

Jin can feel heat rising to her face. Whether it is from those rare kind words, or from the implicit reason he requested her that night, she does not know.

"I thank you for your hospitality," Altair stands and prepares to leave.

Jin stays on her stool and watches him go. He leaps through the make-shift window, and effortlessly pulls himself through the opening.

She waits until she is certain that he is gone, and sighs.

"It was no trouble at all."

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He knows he is wasting his time here. Days have since passed the assassination and yet he makes no move to journey back to Masyaf.

Instead, he perches on a high beam, eyes hawking the movements a particular young man- no, a young girl as she makes her way through the middle district. She carries with her a basket of herbs covered with linen and strides with a purpose.

Altair silently commends her for her convincing performance. The way she walks, lift her head to meet gazes, and her proud, erect posture all label her as male.

And yet… his mind drifts back to that moment when he tackled her to the floor. His arm undoubtedly made contact with her chest. He should have made the connection immediately. But appearances are so deceiving.

The second time, when his body pressed hers to the wall as they hid from their pursuers, he undeniably felt her curves. Thankfully, he managed to control himself, Allah be praised, or he might have taken her right there in the alley.

The assassin does not know why his mind keeps wandering back to that strange girl. She is like a never-ending mystery. The more he finds out about her, the more questions surface. It is like a unquenchable thirst.

That is why he sought her out in the brothel that night: to satisfy at least one of the thirsts. But he is again thwarted. By a corpulent spinster with her prized, exotic pet. Disappointing, to say the least.

However, he finds a small satisfaction in seeing jealousy spark in her emerald eyes as she question him about that night. She did not wear her usual scarf and headdress as she has just awoken, so he was able to see her mouth pout just a tiny bit, and the faint wrinkle form above her pert nose.

He silently reflects upon her temporary irritation at him, and concludes that it does not even hold a candle's breath to his.

The youth finally stops at a modest building, and knocks at the front door. A man, certainly a servant, answers and lets her in immediately, greeting her with familiarity. Her small form disappears from his scouring gaze as she enters into the darkness of the house.

The assassin ponders this for a brief second, and swiftly circles the rooftops around the building. The crates as well as the extra shed in the back yard tells him this is a merchant's house. A quick glimpse at an open crate reveals fruit. From the east side, he is able to catch sight of the girl greeting a man laying on a bed through drawn curtains.

Fascinated, he pauses to watch.

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Jin examines the man's injuries critically. A hiss escapes her lips as she sees the beginnings of infection and at the poor state of the bandages.

Jin remembers the guard's brutal treatment of this fruit vendor right before they assaulted her. In a commanding voice, she orders the servant on standby to get her clean linens. She then proceeds to take out the herbs and grinds them with the pestle and mortar she was provided with. With smooth efficiency, she dresses the open wound with the crushed herbs and rebinds it with fresh linens.

The man is thanking her profusely, but all she can hear is the leering taunts of the soldiers as they physically beat her. _Your foe is my enemy also, _Jin silently thinks as she smiles and accepts his money.

She follows the servant outside, and takes her leave. As she walks back home through the narrow corridors of the middle district, a soaring eagle's shadow trails behind her footsteps.

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She can feel his presence almost immediately. As Jin stirs from sleep, her senses alert her to another aura.

A deadly, threatening presence.

Her instincts have not failed her before, so when she does not see him at the open window, the girl peeks out. Sure enough, he is sitting a hand's breath away from the opening, his posture relaxed. Jin hesitates. This quiet moment seems to be his, and she does not want to intrude.

"It is strangely peaceful here." His voice is calm and toneless. She quietly offers breakfast again, but this time he refuses.

"It is not wise to associate yourself with me."

"I agree. Yet I find you intruding upon my rooftop more often than not," Jin pauses contemplatively, "You chose to save me that day. Or was that just honor-bound duty?"

"There is no honor in what I do," he replies sharply.

"But you mean me no harm."

"How can you be certain?"

"I…have this feeling. An awareness if you will." As the words leave her mouth, Jin cringes inwardly. Such strange words! Nobody in their right mind would believe her. Certainly not this austere man.

"I understand. You must have observed many people in your short lifetime in order to gain this ability."

His words shock her. Jin turn to gawk at him, but Altair continues to stare out at the wide horizon.

"Y-you mean…"

"I have this ability too. It is actually a priceless tool in my line of work."

Moments pass on in pensive silence.

"I… am not that young," Jin abruptly says. His earlier comment on a short lifetime bothers her.

"Is that so?"

"I do not know when my birth date is, but according to Mama I should be around eighteen years of age," she knows she is spewing out unnecessary words, but once the dam opens it cannot be shut, "Already past marriageable age."

"I cannot say for certain, but I think your current living situation already greatly impairs your chances for a respectable marriage."

Jin blinks at him. She cannot be sure, but she thinks she sees the corners of his mouth twitch. Holding back that smirk of his.

"Are you mocking me?"

"Perhaps."

A mirthless laugh bursts out of Jin's mouth.

"You are right. I have already accepted the fact I will live out my life as a spinster. But to have a criminal find amusement in my lifestyle is a bit too much."

The air suddenly changes. Tension descends as any traces of wind disappears.

"You see me as a criminal?" he inquires in a deadly voice.

Many responses race in her mind, but none comes out. Jin bites the inside of her mouth and refuses to meet his eyes. He might have saved her. He did murder her enemies. But in the end he is still a killer. She must remind herself that he is not a friend. Should and cannot be a friend.

"Yes, it is true that my hands are not clean. I do not expect the people to see me as a savior, but you cannot truly believe that I am an obstruction to justice. It is with these two hands that I end lives, and the corruption that follows them."

Jin almost flinches at his tone. He is so resolute and unwavering that she can feel it.

"But who are you to say they are in the wrong? Do you just simply decide that this man is a sinner and take his life?"

"No, it is not I who decide. My master does."

"And you believe him?"

It takes him a few more seconds than necessary to answer. And she knows it.

"Yes."

"This master of yours… he must be a wise man," Jin quietly adds, but voicing her true thoughts in her head.

_Or else the world is going straight into the fiery pits of hell. _

"I must go now. The morning patrols shall be making their rounds soon."

Altair gracefully rises to his feet. For the first time during the exchange, he turns and looks at her. Briefly, but stretching for an eternity, his golden gaze alights upon her.

She wants to ask him when he will stop by again, but thinks better of it. It is not like he will answer her anyways.

"Safety and peace, Jinan."

And he disappears in a blur of white wings.

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Jin sighs heavily. She walks into her room, limbs aching and eyes drowsy. It is late evening, and she has short hours before the sun rises again and the endless cycle of chores begin once more.

She shuts the door quietly, and without bothering with her clothes, slump into her bed. Her stomach chooses at that instance to complain loudly, and Jin groans into her pillow. She reasons that she will not die from starvation for the night and sleep is more precious, until her nose catches a delectable scent.

Jin frowns. The smell is coming from the room, and yet no one ever leaves her food. Especially food that smells this good.

The girl opens her eyes and gasps at the unusual sight. She scrambles up from the bed and trips her way to the work table.

A knapsack full of delicious edibles sits alongside a skin of quality wine. Jin knows immediately who its from. Her proof, when she lifts the leather bag, is a single eagle feather, being disturbed by the motion, fluttering down to the ground.

* * *

So... I guess ppl will be confused, frustrated, or w/e. This chapter was a pain since I was having issues of whether or not I should develop the characters or just focusing on certain scenes I want to write about. Beta isn't helping either since she keeps wanting this story to end in a tragedy.

In case ppl are confused, time has passed from chap 1 -chap 2 b/c Altair is in Damascus for his second kill, the merchant king. After he does the dirty deed, he stops by the brothel to see Jin (b/c killing apparently turns him on and he wants to screw the girl) - my beta's cynical comment. hahaha I wish I can post her rant on that.

He doesn't leave Damascus for awhile. First, b/c I imagine security is really tight after an assassination and guards would be really careful. So he waits and bides his time. In the game, time fast forwards after a kill to Masaf, allowing me to take liberties to how long he actually does stay. But at the end of this chap, he really does leave Damascus. (But not after leaving a lil present for Jin! :)

O yeah, on a totally dif note. I was heavily influenced by some AC fanfics before writing this one. Go check them out:

A Stab in the Dark - by Sparkly-elf

Ambrosia - by Cheerie Mai

The Man in White - by Prtyjedi

Creed - by Avs


	4. Chapter 4

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Chapter 4

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The crowd seethes and bellows like an angry storm. They gather around the gallows, where three men are bound tightly to stakes. The civilians surge in tempestuous waves, testing the thin line of guards. Within the chaos, a single white sail drifts within the ocean of bodies, untouched and moving at its own pace.

The people's shouts rise to a new crescendo as a blue-robed figure steps into view. Like an actor on stage, Majd Addin brings his arms up in a grand flourish.

"Silence! I demand silence!" the executioner commands in a booming voice.

"People of Jerusalem, hear me well. I stand here today to deliver a warning. There are malcontents amongst you, sowing the seeds of discontent. Hoping to lead you astray. Tell me, is this what you desire?" Fervent protests answer his call, and encourages the man further.

"Then you wish to take action? Your devotion pleases me. This evil must be purged. Only then can we hope to be redeemed!"

Suddenly two men break off from crowd, brandishing weapons and heading towards the stage. As they valiantly rush towards Majd Addin, they shout, "This is not justice! Curse you!"

However, their effort is gruesomely wasted as austere soldiers detach themselves from the line and cut them down in violent sprays of blood. The crowd can only look on in stoned shock. Majd Addin takes this all in stride, a look of great pleasure disgustingly forming on his features.

"They sought to instill fear and doubt within you. But I… will keep you safe. Hear now, the harlot, the thief, the gambler, the heretic. Let judgment be brought upon you all!"

Thunderous cheers answer him. Satisfied, the imposing man turns to face his first prey.

Never does he see the silent group of scholars making their way past the guards, to the platform. Never does he see that sail of white make his entrance on his stage. Never does he see that hidden blade, but only feels the cold metal as it penetrates his spine. Unconsciousness seizes him immediately, but something, or rather, someone stays Death from claiming him.

Majd Addin opens his eyes, and finds himself in the arms of a stranger. He reckons this man to be a messenger of Allah. For why else will a man dress in white and look upon him with such compassionate regret in his eyes? The man in white addresses him softly, and after a few seconds Majd Addin manages to finally focus on his words.

"You work here is finished. Tell me, what is your part in this. Do you intend to defend yourself like the others?"

"No… no! It has only just begun!" He struggles within the other man's grip, but the stranger, who now he suspect is his murderer, holds on tight.

"You kill people simply for believing differently than you." It is a statement, not a question. The sparks of madness lights in Majd Addin's eyes as he angrily replies, "Of course not! I killed them because I could!… Because it was fun! Do you know what it feels like to determine another man's fate? I was like… a God!" He spits out blood and continues, "You would have done the same."

"Once, perhaps. But then I learned what becomes of those who lift themselves above others."

"And what is that?"

"Here, allow me to show you." The assassin's eyes harden into crystal topaz as his blade sink into the madman's jugular. He quickly takes out the assassination feather and soak it with the fresh blood. Not wanting to spend another moment with the corpse, Altair blinks away the illusion and resumes his place back in reality. Going into that state of being, the place between life and death, is taxing on his psyche. But in the end, it is worth it, for the truth that he seeks lies only in the last breaths of men.

The roar of the crowd and the guards are the first thing that reach his senses. Vision is slightly blurry, but he has already memorized the layout of the surrounding buildings. Without hesitation, he sprints to the edge to the left of the platform, where a ladder is waiting for him. He glances back, making sure the soldiers will be following him, allowing his comrades to free the captives. He climbs and runs across a few rooftops, then takes a sharp turn left and drops down into an empty alley. Walking with long strides and keeping his head down, he locates a near-empty bench. He sits, and waits patiently for the ruckus to die down.

Later on, the assassin gets up, gives the other man sitting on the bench an imperceptible nod, and scales a building on its shadowed side. As he is leaping weightlessly from one rooftop to another, the assassin reflects upon the Majd Addin's dying words.

That man was sick in the mind. Drunken off of corruption and power. The power to control other men's fate. It should not be in just any man's hands. Power itself corrupts even the most virtuous men. He suddenly recalls the last conversation he had with Jin: _"This master of yours… he must be a wise man."_

It sounds as if she has more to add to the sentence. But she never voices it.

Altair ponders on the meaning of their words as the wind blows lightly on his face and the scenery below rushes by in a blur.

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"Jin! Come clean up this mess!" Mama Kathlum orders. The girl sighs, and leaves the clusters of medicinal herbs she has drying on her work table. She makes her way to the sound of her mistress's voice, who points her to one of the guest rooms where a pile of messy sheets and a broken vase wait for her attention: a testament to a violent customer. In the other room, the sisters are comforting the unfortunate girl, her sobs muffled but still audible.

Jin disinterestedly wonders who it is as she delicately picks up the shards of porcelain in a cupped hand. She picks up the dirty sheets after disposing of the broken vase, and notes with distaste at the speckles of dark brown dotting the fabric. Dried blood.

It is too late in the evening to wash them, so Jin drops it into the wooden wash bucket for tomorrow. She will have to make a trip to the creek the next morning. Jin once again counts her blessings. Her current situation relieves her from being a prostitute. But then again, it is such a two-edged knife it can hardly be counted as a blessing.

The following day, bright sunlight shining in from the open window wakes Jin up. She methodically gathers everything and makes the twenty-minute walk to the river. She will have to make haste as she cannot slack off in her regular duties. As she heads back to the brothel, Jin notices the increased amount of people in the street with faint interest.

_Street performances perhaps?_

Mayhem greets her as she rounds the corner. It is the smoke that reaches her first. The scent of burning paper that stings the nose. The acrid fumes making her eyes water.

Jin hurriedly rushes by the crowd gathering in the front and through the gates of the courtyard, freezing at the sight that greets her.

Orange flames lick up the walls of the brothel, leaving blackened destruction in its wake. The huge bonfire, made in the middle of the courtyard have spread its deadly arms to the wooden structure with the help of the wind. Standing in front of the bonfire is a figure she has never seen before. His face is mostly concealed with turban and scarf. The girl has no time to think as screams reach her ears.

"Help! Some one help!"

"The fire! It is everywhere! Allah have mercy!"

The sisters are scattering wildly within the courtyard. Mama Kathlum is no where in sight. The bystanders themselves are too stunned with fear to help.

Jin does not panic at first. She accessed the situation quietly. The brothel's location is already revealed, but Mama might be able to pay the officials off. The fire is not out of control and the buildings will hold. All the sisters are streaming out the doors, with all their scant belongings in their arms. She herself does not have much. The medicine is replaceable, and what she value is usually carried on her person.

Jin's attention shifts to the figure by the bonfire, who is feeding something to the fiery beast.

_No, not firewood. Blocks. Blocks that look like- books? _

Something clicks in Jin's mind.

_Oh no. Heavens no. No!_

The wooden bucket with the clean laundry clatters loudly to the ground. She pounces toward the man feeding the precious books to the fire, but his guards quickly step in to block her.

"You dare oppose Jubair Al Hakim? Away peasant!" One of the biggest soldiers shout at the others, "Go around the other houses and gather books! We're just about finished here."

Not listening to another word, Jin rushes into the nearest door, pushing past the sisters who are running the opposite way.

_Not that! Anything but that!_

She climbs the stairs swiftly and makes for her little room in the attic. Once inside, she races to her bed, and jams her hands under the pillow. Her fingers find what they are seeking, and with a big sigh of relief, Jin pulls out her most prized possession. A faint smile graces her face as she presses the item to her heart.

It is then that she realizes where she actually is. Jin freezes at the sight of black smoke creeping through the ajar doorway and orange flames starting to eat away at the floorboards. She falls back, clutching her item to her chest even more frantically.

_The window! The roof! _Her mind screams out to her.

But her body will not budge. The sight of the fire, a sight that has haunted her since her earliest childhood memories has rendered her immobile. The fact the brothel is on fire did not even register earlier. So anxious she was to find…

"What are you doing there? Come out!" A voice from the past surfaces in her mind.

She cannot stop coughing. The smoke is suffocating. Pressing heavy weight on her chest and lungs.

"Hurry! It is too dangerous!"

One voice mixes with another, and she cannot recognize it anymore. The past. The present. They merge into one. But fear is still the same no matter what.

Memories of the pain flash in her mind. The burning sensation in which flesh rip apart into black tar. The pieces of skin dropping like rotting meat. The smell. The agony.

Jin closes her eyes. Smoke is surrounding her, cutting off her oxygen and it will be a matter be a time before she suffocates and the flames will consume her body.

_At least, my parents… they are with me. I will join them…_

Suddenly, firm hands are grabbing her by the waist. A dizzying sense of being lifted. Rough movements jostling her, and then the breath of fresh air caressing her face like a mother's touch.

Jin opens her watering eyes, and gazes into the clear sky. She is lying on her back on a flat roof top.

"You're alive."

She recognizes that voice. That deep, caustic tone can only belong to one man.

Altair.

Jin turns her head towards him. The stains of soot and the burnt edges of his robe does not even faze him. Or take away his beauty. His gaze is as keen and entrancing as ever.

"Can you stand?"

She tries. And fails miserably as her legs buckle underneath her. Her breathing falters, as too much smoke has entered her lungs. Dry, hacking coughs rack her frail body, and she cannot even begin to look up at him.

He moves so fast, she does not even realize she is lifted off of her feet until the coughing spasms are over. Jin forces her eyes open, and is in awe at the speed in which the surrounding buildings are passing by. The assassin is running so effortlessly even while carrying her. His hold on her tightened for a slight second. She idiotically had a notion that he is displaying his protective nature for her. Until she feels the change of rhythm in his gait.

_He is speeding up his pace. But for what?_

She glances up ahead, and gasps out loud.

_Surely he is not going to jump that?_

There is at least a five meter gap between the edge of rooftop to the next one. No human can possibly think of making it across. Alive.

Words escape her. Instead she just shuts her eyes and holds on tighter to his robes. His muscles starts coiling tightly, like a tightly-wound spring. She estimates the distance to the end, and nervously counts down the sound of his footfalls.

_Four, three, two, and one. _

A light step and he leaps.

Jin cannot help herself. She opens her eyes and take in the sight. They seem to be suspended midair in the split second in which gravity no longer affect them. As they soar through the air with the wind laughing into her face, she revels in the sensations. The feeling of lightness. What a newborn sparrow feels as it takes its maiden flight.

Too soon they land. Quite heavily because he is not used to his new burden, but he does not drop her. He quickly make his way to a square pavilion. Jin recognizes them as the covered roof gardens that some households have to grow their own vegetables. He sets her down inside and tells her to wait there until he comes back to get her. He is gone before she can utter a word.

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"Would you like to explain why you would act so foolishly? Any street urchin has enough sense to run away from a burning building and not into it."

His reprimanding voice jolts her awake. Jin have been dozing in and out of sleep inside the roof garden. She has not eaten since last night, and her entire frame shakes with hunger.

"For this."

At the sight of her trembling hands unfolding to reveal a beaten book cover, threads fraying and no pages in between, Altair loses it. There is an unprecedented roughness in his voice as he grinds out, "You barge into a fire for this? Do you value your own life so little that you would toss it aside for a piece of leather?"

Jin does not meet his eyes. Or cringe at his words. She just tightened her hold on the object.

"This is… the book that holds all the knowledge my parents have left. All the history, all of their research of medicinal plants and their properties, and everything I know are written within its pages. The only thing my deceased parents have left me."

Silence prevails. His glare is sharp and unforgiving.

"It has no pages. There is only a leather cover."

"I have memorized all the information within its pages. In order to prevent others from stealing it or acquiring it too, I destroyed the pages."

"No life is worth that."

"I am living because of that," she retorts. Stinging from his words but refusing to back down. Self-contained rage is evident in her voice as she bites out, "I am grateful that you have rescued me, but if you keep questioning my motives, then it would have been better if you have left me to the fire."

Altair regards her carefully, and then decides to move onto more pressing matters.

"Your home has been completely evacuated. The building still stands, but suffers from severe damage . Your… guardian has taken refuge at a neighbor's house. I will leave you at-"

"Why are you doing this?"

The assassin pauses and then continues in a carefully neutral tone, "My targets were Jubair Al Hakim and his men. One of which who decided to use that particular courtyard for his …demonstration. The fire is an unforeseen factor, but it helped my cause since it added to the confusion."

Her eyes narrow in suspicion.

"So you had a bout of guilty conscience?"

"I am under orders not to harm innocents."

_But that does not require you to rescue them. _

It is now Jin who studies him carefully. She tries to find any other explanation in his face, but Altair's features are set in stone. Expressionless and enigmatic.

"Are you quite done? Or shall I just leave you here and hope that your extended kin will search the rooftops for a person who is supposedly non-existent?"

Jin opens her mouth, and then abruptly shuts clicks in her mind and she looks at her savior. She did rush into a burning house and nobody saw her come out.

"They all think I am dead?" He says nothing. Gathering up her courage to ask the near-impossible, Jin whispers, "Would it be possible… for me to stay dead then?"

Silence pass between the two. The girl bravely tries to level her gaze at the assassin, trying to convince him of her sincerity whilst not knowing that Altair already understood her intentions immediately. She does not see herself as a member of that household. It is not loyalty or obligation that binds her to the brothel, but chains of bondage. What he conceives as loyalty are just typical ties of convenience. This is an opportunity for her to free herself.

The assassin gives her a look that evidently says, _Where shall you go then?_

Jin's answer comes so fast that he swears she has already made plans to leave even before this incident.

"Now it is I who owe you a life. Please… take me with you."

"I work better alone. You will only slow me down."

"I can help in other ways. I can mix medicine, treat wounds, and gather information."

"Our stronghold is not a suitable place for women."

Jin lifts her chin stubbornly and counters, "Is a brothel more suitable place? Besides, do I look like a woman to you?"

"You think you are able to fool a whole fortress of assassins? Do not be naïve."

Her mouth tightens and her eyes are flashing out a challenge. Altair's patience is wearing thin. He can see she will not give up ground. He concedes that the girl is right on some regards. The brothel is not her home nor a suitable place for her to live. She does not belong there. But to have her living in Masyaf…

"Once you enter our organization, other paths of life are closed off to you. You must walk the road laid out for you and no other."

"I accept," she answers instantly, and in reply to his stern glare, Jin adds, "Believe me, I am sincere for I forge my own paths in life."

Altair nods slightly. She already knows too much about him and the Brotherhood. Having her permanently stationed within Masyaf will be like quarantining a security issue. Without having to kill her.

"I shall take you to the Assassin's Bureau in this city. But I give you no promises of your safety or what will happen to you."

Without visible effort, he lifts her just like before and begins to make his way across the rooftops. Jin begins to protest that she is not some useless rag doll that he has to carry everywhere, but stops when she realizes this method of traveling is much faster and she is too weak from a complete day's lack of nourishment to make much progress on foot.

After only a few minutes, they drop down through a discrete opening on the roof of a domed building. The interior is like a private conservatory. Playful trickling of water emits from a small fountain, while an array of floor rugs and plush cushions lies on the floor invitingly. Altair tells her to wait, and he quickly strides through an open doorway. The exhausted girl collapses into the pile of welcoming pillows, and falls quickly asleep.

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"So she is a woman? How convincing her disguise is…"

"Please do not praise her more than necessary. Her ego is much too big for her own good," Altair scoffs as he pours Rafiq, the Bureau leader, another cupful of wine. The two are quietly sharing a drink in the dark, with only the audience of the candlelight and the form of one sleeping girl in the next room. The Rafiq chuckles as if sharing an inside joke with himself, and eyes the younger assassin quite carefully.

"So even the strongest of them fall to the wiles of women."

Altair's first instinct is to protest, but then thinks better of it. It is a believable cover. Many assassins have taken wives and started a family within the secret walls of Masyaf.

But they only do so when they near imminent retirement, and so rarely does an assassin live out his full lifespan. He, on the other hand, is on a mission to regain his rightful position of head assassin, to bring honor to the Brotherhood, and most of all, to find out the truth behind these recent events. There is no need, no desire to have a woman by his side.

So why is he in the position he is now? Why did he bring her to the Assassin's Bureau? Compromising the safety of the Brotherhood … again?

Truthfully, he does not know why he is so fixated on this… girl. She can hardly even be considered a female with the way she dresses, walks, and swears like a thug. She has no reputation, has no land or title, and does not even have a family. He has hardly seen any parts of her body to deem her attractive, other than her pale face with those green eyes. As if that is not enough, trouble follows her every step. If it is not the guards, then it is a burning building that seeks her death.

The strong alcohol is dulling his senses. Altair welcomes the numbness, the burning sensation in his throat and smiles grimly at his own inconceivable circumstances. His drinking partner, however, completely mistakes his expression for something else: the face of a love-sick man.

The Rafiq laughs heartily and lowers his face closer to Altair's and asks, "Will you be taking her to Masyaf then?"

Altair meditates over the implications for heavy minutes, and then tersely replies, "No. She will stay here and prove her worth first." His tone of voice leaves no room for argument.

He cannot bring her in front of Al Mualim. Faithful that he is to his master, there has been a seed of disquiet growing within him. Al Mualim is withholding information from him. His slain targets' dying words are all hinting at a greater purpose, a bigger picture, and he cannot rest until he gets to the bottom of it. Until then, Masyaf, he decides quietly, is not the safest place for this girl.

Seeing the other man's hesitant expression, Altair smoothly adds, "I am sure there are menial tasks that a busy man such as yourself have no time for. Why not make use of a pair of extra hands? She will definitely not complain since she will be working for the roof overhead and the food she eats." The Rafiq nods slowly in agreement and the decision is made.

Not that Altair will take another answer.

After a few more hours of idle chatter, the two men retire to their chambers.

Altair has always slept in the open conservatory, since it allows him to hear the faintest noise from outside and it is the only unguarded area of the building. But tonight, there is an extra body lying on the cushions. He does not mind her in the least bit, and lies down at a respectable distance besides her.

Jin's face in repose is so child-like. The girl's features are surprisingly strong, with a straight nose, unwavering brow line, and a thin line of a mouth. He envisions that face contorting in bewilderment in the morning when she finds out that he is gone. Altair smiles as he imagines the string of curses she will mutter, at the way she will stomp around in anger, and her making indignant noises. But then his smile vanishes as he considers what she will most certainly see as betrayal. Or a broken promise. Her trust in him will be deeply shaken.

The assassin scowls at himself.

_Since when does an adolescent girl's opinion matter to me?_ _I never did promise her anything, _he reassures himself. _She is the one imposing on me and has no right to be angry. _

He turns over onto his back and closes his eyes. Sleep does not draw him in her dark embrace however, and before the peeping rays of dawn shine through the open ceiling, he is already gone.

* * *

Notes: Borrowed dialogue straight from game for the kill scene. Thought Majd Addin's rant is a nice foreshadowing of the actions of a certain someone.

Don't know if Jin's reasoning to leave with Altair is logical enough. I never even originally planned for her to leave Damascus nor for the brothel go up in flames either. Oops. But really, she does know too much about the assassins. Haha now that I think of it, if I did kill off Jin earlier, (no doubt at Altair's own hands), my beta would be happy b/c it turned out to be a tragedy, and Jin would just be a brief passing chapter in Altair's life. And I could move on with my life.

There must be a conspiracy when the characters start taking a life of their own. And refusing to leave me alone.

Breakdown: Altair kills Majd Addin in Jerusalem. Goes to Damascus for Jubair Al Hakim, and rescues Jin from being collateral damage. She guilt trips him into letting her tag along, but he ditches her at the Bureau all the while telling himself it is for her own safety. And not because he cannot handle his hormones around her. (Total sarcasm btw)

And has anyone noticed that I have not mentioned Adha ever since Chapter One? (lol and probably won't until later in story either. FYI, she's a character in Altair Chronicles)


	5. Chapter 5

**Spoilers:** Basically the ending of Assassin's Creed and the super awesome plot twist about Robert De Sable. Don't say I didn't warn you. Hehehe

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Chapter 5

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"Welcome home, my child," Al Mualim greets Altair warmly as the white hooded assassin steps up to his office.

"Another of the nine is put to rest," Altair says as he gives his master the slightest of bows. He pauses, and proceeds to ask in an uncharacteristically submissive voice, "A question, Master, if I may."

"Ask and I shall answer."

"Why these men? Jubair and Sibrand?" asks Altair cautiously. He already knows what answer his Master will give him. But he must be sure.

"Ah, do you not see? They pave the way for change. Insures threats both old and new are not given cause."

A question answered by a question. Al Mualim's replies have always been vague and ambiguous so his pupil no longer expect anything else.

"To weaken them is to weaken our enemy," Altair concludes, "I suppose that makes sense."

In his mind however, the gears of logic are quickly turning. To assassinate those two targets is needless. They hold no great positions of power, and is only vaguely connected to the Templars. His master is not one to condemn lives so easily, so to order their deaths is proof that there is another reason.

Altair can tell when Al Mualim will speak no more on a topic, so he decides to drop the subject lest he start arousing suspicion.

"I shall return to my work. The sooner this last man dies, the sooner I can face our true enemy."

_And the sooner I can bring out those secrets you are hiding Master. _

Al Mualim turns, takes a few steps towards him, and commands, "Before you go, I have a question for you. What is the truth?"

Altair pauses. He does not sense a trap, but it would be wise to proceed carefully. Most prudent course of action would be to give an answer that the master already expects and wants; nothing more.

"We place faith in ourselves to see the world the way it really is. And hope that one day all mankind will see the same."

"What is the world?"

"An illusion. One which we can submit to, admit to, or transcend."

"What does it mean to transcend?"

"To recognize that nothing is true, and everything's permitted," Altair quotes those words that Al Mualim has taught him long time ago, "That laws arise not from Divinity but from reason. I understand now that our Creed does not command us to be free. It commands us to be wise. I can see why the Templars are a threat. Where we the Brotherhood would dispel the illusion, they would use it to rule."

His Master nods sagely and replies, "Yes, to reshape the world into an image more pleasing to them. That, is why I sent you to retrieve the treasure. That, is why I keep it locked away. And that, is why you kill them. So long as one survives, so too does their desire to create a new world order. Take up your equipment, and seek out this last man."

Al Mualim turns to gaze out of the glass paned window which, for Altair, means a silent dismissal.

"It will be done," the assassin affirms and swiftly takes his leave. His mind is full of doubts though, as he recollects and dissects every word Al Mualim said. The piece of Eden is a controlling device. It works to win over men's hearts and to destroy freewill. The Templars want it to create a new world order, but it is now in the hands of the assassins. Once all who knows of the existence of the treasure are done with, then according to Master, the rest of humanity will be safe.

A thought suddenly emerges . Everyone who knows of the treasure's powers includes him and Al Mualim. Surely Master will not send an assassin-

Altair shakes his head slightly to dismiss that train of thought. However, the more he refuses to think about it, the more it festers on his mind. The moment he steps outside of the fortress and into Masyaf's countryside, he takes in a lungful of fresh air, breaks into a heavy sprint across rolling hills, and surrenders all thoughts to the feeling of wind, flowing through his finger tips.

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Out of the cooking pot and into the roaring fire. From one prison to another.

That is how Jin views her current predicament. There is no more freedom here in the Assassin's Bureau than in Mama Kathlum's brothel. Eyes are always following her everywhere, analyzing her every move and every sentence.

She is not surprised to find Altair gone when she awakens. But after waiting for hours, days, and then finally a week with not a sign of him, she has to face the truth.

He will not return.

She is certain he has abandoned her. He had made it blatantly clear that she is nothing but a burden, and so he takes the first opportunity to vanish.

She is now living in the Bureau, answering to the Rafiq and trying to make herself useful without perishing from sheer boredom. He gives her the occasional chore now and then, but the majority of her time she spends going about doing nothing. Or at least a good impression of it.

Jin has gone through too many predicaments to not know how to make the best use of her time. Since she is in a new, foreign environment with no contact with the outside world, Jin stays quiet and observes.

She learns that the Bureau leader is a potter. And a retired assassin.

His storefront, where he sells his various bowls, pots, and vases, is connected to the conservatory by a doorway that is hidden by a well-placed shelf.

If he is not in there, then he is in his office, which is an open doorway from the far side of the conservatory. His office has shelves full of books, scrolls, and various maps that are off limits to Jin. Which does not stop her from sneaking in anyways. To her dismay, she realizes she cannot read the text, for they are all written in a Arabic, and she has stopped trying ever since.

From the office, there is a hidden corridor which leads to their rooms. There are plenty of guestrooms, and the Rafiq assigned the one furthest down the hall to be hers.

The Rafiq goes to sleep in the late hours of the night, and wakes before dawn breaks. He receives visitors almost constantly, and always at unpredictable hours. Once or twice, she herself awakens to voices conversing sharply with each other in the darkness. She does not bother to eavesdrop on those conversations. The less she knows, the better.

After a few weeks or so, he finally allows her to venture outside. As a man of course, and with her distinguishing features, she must take care to cover her bright hair and most of her skin.

Not surprisingly, she finds herself always tailed by one or two Brothers. They would either be following her on rooftops, or twenty paces behind her on the streets. And they are always careful to not be noticed by her, but her years of experience on the streets have taught her well. She makes the effort to ignore them, and walks on seemingly oblivious.

Jin always almost goes to the bazaar. She is not stupid enough to go to the vendors she frequents or visit anyone that might recognize her. Especially Muhsin because even if news of her "death" did not reach him, there is no reason for him to speak of her in passing.

Instead, she purposely picks vendors in a random manner, and only buys herbs. All of her medicine, and dried herbs are lost in the fire. It is important for her to replenish her medical supplies.

Especially now, for it is a factor in determining how useful she is. She dares not think what will become of her if she should ever outlive her usefulness.

Despite herself, despite her righteous anger at Altair and her own situation, Jin still retains hope. Hope that one day she will be free of this burdensome life. It is because of that sentiment she faithfully gets up to work every day. It comforts her in those lonely, dark nights when tears of frustration wet her pillows. And it is because of hope, that whenever she sees a bird-shaped shadow, Jin will raise her head to search the blue sky.

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The sun is shining too brightly. The rays of light blinding the onlookers as they gather somberly around the gravesite.

"Allah graces us with such wonderful weather for Majd Addin's funeral, almost as if he agrees his life is a blight upon the world and his death is the salvation of it," a nearby commoner whispers to the monk standing right next to him. The white-robed scholar inclines his head slightly in agreement but stays quiet.

The orator is praising the late Majd Addin and his contributions. His voice, as well as his words, are as meaningful to his audience as the bland scenery. Everyone present at this small, modest ceremony knows that elsewhere, especially in the poor district of Jerusalem, the common people are celebrating.

For the tyrant is dead and so is his terror-ridden regime.

Whilst everyone's head is bowed for a moment's silence for the dead, the assassin's eyes are trained on one person and one person only: Robert De Sable. His last target and greatest nemesis.

The man is wearing a helmet that covers all of his face, but the Templar symbol on his chest plate, as well as his arsenal of guards flanking his side declare his office like a flag.

The announcer's next words however, catches Altair's attention.

"This creature clings to the shadows. And run from any who would face him fairly. But not today. For the one who sins stands among us. He mocks us with his presence. Seize him! Bring him forward for God's justice must be done!"

Even before he finished his speech, people were already regarding each other cautiously. The crowd parts in front of him, and Altair knows his cover will be blown.

He takes out his short sword and takes a defensive stance. Not a minute sooner, for the guards are upon him. They encircle him like hungry dogs around meat.

The assassin waits patiently, always with the cold metal between him and his enemies. His eyes never stays in one place, as they silently issue a challenge to the eager soldiers.

As expected, a newly appointed soldier, keen to prove himself, charges straight at him. Altair smoothly sidesteps the downward trajectory of the sword. His left hand shoots out and pulls his opponent in by his sword arm. With his right, he stabs the man two times in the gut.

He uses the limp body to block an incoming blow from his left side. He sidesteps again, blocks an attack from behind, and disarms that attacker with a sharp twist of his shoulders.

He dances a dance of death. One by one, they fall until one is left. In the now empty cemetery, Altair straightens up from his crouch to face the Templar.

Robert De Sable spared him no words as he attacks with a long-sword. His attacks are not strong, but instead his defense is more frustrating. The man favors slight feints and has such an unusual way of moving that it confused the assassin momentarily.

However, he eventually disarms him. The long-sword skitters across the ground, and the knight stands as he is.

"I will see your eyes before you die," Altair declares as he wrenches the helmet from the Templar's face.

To his surprise, a pair of intelligent but unfamiliar eyes glare back at him. Delicate, feminine features meet his searching gaze.

He is not Robert De Sable. No, _she _is not him. An imposter.

"What sorcery is this?" The enraged Altair demands. He is now cheated twice out of killing his one true enemy. Furthermore, to be fooled once by a woman in disguise is enough, but two times! It is almost too much for his pride to handle. His hand grabs her by the collar and gives her a rough shake.

It is all he can do not to mistaken those eyes for Jin's and that pale face for hers. Is girl so spiteful of his unannounced departure that she would follow him all the way to Jerusalem? Or to conjure up a spell to transform his target's face to a similar likeness of hers?

A woman's voice answers him. It is unfamiliar, and harsh. "No sorcery. We knew you were coming. Robert had to be sure he had time to get away."

"So he flees."

She stiffens at the insult to her...her what? The man muses on her relationship to Robert. What kind of bond does those two have that compels her to sacrifice her own life for his? She does not flinch from the assassin's cold stare and says, "We cannot deny your success. First the treasure, and then our men. Control over the Holy Land slipped away. But then he saw an opportunity. To reclaim what has been stolen. To return your victories to our advantage. It is not just Templars you'll have to contend with now."

"Speak sense," growls Altair. This female is getting on his nerves. Her attitude and lack of propriety is reminding him more and more of a certain someone.

Maria regards him carefully. She is surprised that this assassin cares so much for the truth. Ever since she entered this war, all she hears about are the barbarian murderers who are blood-lusty monsters willing to kill on sight.

Now that she actually faces one of them, she can see now they are more dangerous than the rumors say. This one is calculating, tacit, and deceptive.

Not for the first time, Maria is glad she managed to persuade Robert to leave her behind as decoy. He needs as many soldiers as he can get to make the journey to Arsuf, and nobody is as eager as her to give up her life in exchange for his. He needs to be safe. And she will do anything for it.

Now that she is powerless in the hands of the enemy, facing impending death, the last thing she can selfishly have is the satisfaction of revealing his approaching demise.

"Robert rides for Arsuf to plead his case that Saracen and the Crusaders unite against the assassins. Now that you have given them a reason to. Nine of them in fact. The bodies you left behind, victims on both sides You have made the assassins an enemy in common, and insured the annihilation of your entire order," she spats "Well done."

The hand gripping her chest mail clenches. She feels her body lifting off the ground and sees the blade emerging from his left hand.

Maria is not afraid of death. She will face it head on like she does for every obstacle thrown in her path. Her gaze is unwavering as she gazes down at the assassin. Taunting him.

Suddenly, his grip slackens. Her feet touches down on the soft earth.

His expression is still the same. Taciturn and inscrutable. But the blade that once protruded from his hand is now gone.

His voice is calm as he corrects her, "Not nine. Eight. You were not my target. I will not take your life. You are free to go, but do not follow me." He turns to leave, his white robe fluttering behind.

"I don't need to, you are already too late," she retorts.

His actions confuse her. Prudence, restraint, and mercy. They contradict everything she knows about these foreigners.

He gives her a look that infuriates her.

"We shall see."

The distant shouts of reinforcements reach her ears. She turns to see the clumsy score of men enter the gate to the cemetery. When she turns back to have the last word, she finds herself standing alone near the gravestones.

The white-robed man was gone.

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She is grinding something. The scraping noise of pestle meeting mortar grates on her nerves.

But she does not care.

The pulpy substance emits a strong smell. Astringent and sharp. Tears at the inner tissue of her nostrils.

But she does not care.

With a finger she disinterestedly swipes a taste of her unfinished project. Bitter, but with an addition of ground vanilla beans, the unwanted flavor can be covered.

Jin washes out her mouth with a nearby cup of water. It will not be wise to ingest her own poison. After all, she is saving it for someone.

In all her life, she has only created medicine to help people. This is the first time she has tried to mix a poison. A tool for killing.

But she does not care.

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The horse is foaming from the mouth. Its muscles bunch and ripple under its silver tipped hide. The landscape is passing by a blur, and yet Altair urges his horse to go faster.

His last conversation with Acre's Rafiq resurfaces within his mind.

"_Ah, my friend, you are not meant to enjoy these grim tasks. Regret, uncertainty, sympathy even. It is to be expected."_

"_I… should not feel these feelings."_

_The older man shakes his head with a smile. He replies, "Embrace these emotions, for they are what keeps you human." _

Not for the first time, Altair wishes he is not an assassin. Or at least, one who is free of emotions.

For it is regret that haunts him. Countless men that he murdered and all for one man's greed. Al Mualim, he no longer considers this man his Master, seeks to hoard the Piece of Eden all by himself. He has sent him to kill all those who know of the treasure's existence, and by the end of it all, he, the Master assassin, will be killed as well.

"_I, your greatest enemy, kept you safe from harm. But now you've taken my life, and in the process, ended your own," said the dying Robert De Sable as he passed on in his arms. _

Uncertainty quickly follows. For he is no longer sure of his just cause. He merely followed Al Mualim's orders and now he cannot deny the fact he is no better than a puppet.

"_The people know not what they want. That is why they turn to men like us." King Richard 'The Lionheart' towered over him like a mountain, and when he spoke, his voice boomed like thunder. But the assassin's gaze did not waver or his voice less resolved. _

"_Then it falls to men like you to do what is right," Altair insisted._

And now, trailing behind all those emotions, appears sympathy. Sympathy for those he once mocked for not having control over their own lives. Now that he realizes he himself moves by another pulling the strings, he can identify with the apathy of ignorant people. The hopelessness of trying to climb out of the world's immoral pit.

"_Nonsense!" King Richard argued, "We come in the world kicking and screaming. Violent and unstable. We cannot help who we are."_

"_No," he had answered with finality, "We are what we choose to be." _

There, he had said it.

With those few words he permits himself to grasp the future in his own two hands. Arsuf, and the guilty deeds he committed, lays behind him. In front lays the assassins' stronghold, Masyaf.

It is the future that he rides to with such urgency.

He needs to resolve this with Al Mualim. He needs closure.

After he finishes with what he must do, then…it will all be over. He can then breath. The Brotherhood's sullied reputation can be restored. The mindless killing will stop. And then, perhaps, he can be at peace with himself at last.

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"Surely you jest! What you are saying is impossible!"

"Impossible perhaps. But it is done. Al Mualim was a traitor and at fault. Justice was dealt out in the only way possible, these two hands saw to it."

Muffled voices reach her through the darkness of the room. Usually, Jin would try to ignore it and fall back to sleep. But tonight, something about the urgency in the voices keeps her awake.

The Rafiq never sounded so shaken before. It worries her. And that other voice: a low rumble that leaves the aftertaste of a dangerous threat in the air, makes her uneasy.

She does not like her current situation very much, but she has grown attached to the Rafiq. Though not exactly a friend, he treats her kindly and fairly. If something were to happen to him…

Jin slowly gets up and takes the earthenware cup by her bedside table for the pretense of fetching water. She treads softly into the corridor and towards the slip of light emitting from the closed door. Edging closer, she can almost make out their words.

"The Brotherhood must be in chaos right now," muses the Bureau Leader.

The voice that answers him is grim and terse. "Malik is currently handling internal affairs at Maysaf. Words reached me that Saladin and his armies lost to the Crusaders at Arsuf. King Richard's next move will most likely be Jerusalem itself."

"So what are you planning?"

"The Brotherhood exists to ensure peace. Even if Al Mualim is now dead, there is no reason why the principle should go on being ignored. I shall meet with the leaders and do all that is in my power to avoid more bloodshed."

More muttering ensues. Jin settles herself into a more comfortable position by the door. There is something unsettling about the unknown voice. It is strangely familiar, but the door is preventing her from hearing clearly.

"Please, it has been months since you've last stopped by. There is a long journey ahead of you. Have a rest."

"Thanks, friend. But I must be on my way. There is no time to waste. I stopped by to warn you of the upcoming battle.' The older man chuckles.

"Always business with you, Altair. Fine, I will not insist then."

From her position behind the door, Jin recoils back from shock.

Altair.

She stands up from her crouching position, and immediately upsets the clay cup she has earlier set down on her lap. The cup drops with a hard thud to the ground, and then rolled to settle with an audible clink against the wooden door.

Jin curses in her head.

She lunges for the cup, and right as she straightens up, light explodes in her vision.

The door is open. Silhouetted within its frame, stands Altair.

Jin blinks owlishly. Her eyes does not adjust adequately to the sudden intrusion of light, so she cannot make out his exact expression.

Words escape her, as they always do when he is present. He says nothing either. Just stands there, and regards her and the dirty cup in her hand.

Jin doe not know how long they stood there. But the Rafiq peering from behind Altair finally decides to clear his throat.

"Ahem. Jin, I believe you should be sleeping right now."

The young girl nods dumbly. But still she does not move. She is definitely not taking her eyes off of the man right in front of her. Just how many months she has waited. Hope slowly drained out of her until she thought herself to be nothing but an empty shell; waking, sleeping, and eating mechanically.

With one look at him, everything changes. All those pent-up frustrations, overwhelming feelings flood back into her. In the jumble that is her heart and mind, one emotion prevails.

Anger.

Despite subconscious knowledge that she can never take down the assassin, Jin hurtles her small frame at him. With the only weapon in her hand, she brandishes the cup and makes to smash it at his face.

No such luck though.

He snatches her arm in mid swing. Twists it. She drops the cup to the ground.

His other hand comes up to stop her punch. She notes the difference in their size with despair. His hand, rough and calloused, completely swallows up her puny fist.

Not being gentle at all, he slams her into the wall. Pain shoots up from her back, but she refuses to cry out. One of his hand is holding both her wrists above her head, and she struggles to kick at him. A sharp jab right below her ribcage knocks all of the air out of her lungs, and she goes limp.

His tawny eyes gleams dangerously at her from underneath his hood.

"Enough," he growls lowly.

The girl glares daggers back at him. Resists the urge to spit at his face. That fierce and austerely beautiful face.

She seethes with barely contained fury, "Get your filthy hands off of me."

Altair scoffs. Weak, powerless at his hands, her threat is pathetic. She is like a defenseless kitten, hissing and spitting to no avail.

But an appealing one all the same.

The amber glow lights up her hair into a golden fire. Her hair, although short and chopped sloppily in the harsh daylight, is suddenly a mass of rich, luxurious curls. Her normally pale complexion is warm and blooming under his smoldering gaze. Thin, cherry colored lips beckon to him teasingly. And her eyes… dear Lord. Deep jade is staring into him, reflecting the light into gold flakes within their viridian depths and pulling him in.

They are drinking in the sight of each other. After months of drought, an oasis awaits.

_No, not an oasis_ he amends silently. _But a garden._

A loud cough from the direction of the office. Molten gold flickers in his direction for a second, but then dismisses him.

The Rafiq almost smirks. Seems like they both forgot about the other man in the doorway.

"Forgive me Rafiq. But it seems like I have left you with a bit of a trouble. Please allow me to teach this disobedient girl a lesson."

Without waiting for a reply, Altair drags Jin down the dark corridor, pushes his way into the only room left ajar, and slams the door shut.

* * *

Notes: I took a lot of original dialogue from the game. Why? B/c that's always a starting point from which I can work with.

I really didn't like how submissive Altair was in one of his later conversations with Al Mualim. I very much rather like to think that it was all an act b/c Altair begins to suspect his Master. And so wrote that scene in. hahaha I explain this b/c otherwise that scene would seem pretty useless.

+ 1 point for Altair for being acute and deceptive

I use the scene from Robert/Maria's failed assassination b/c it's another female he can compare Jin to. That and I don't understand why he decided not to kill her. It wasn't exactly a logical decision. She isn't exactly innocent, and she knew of the treasure's existence. She knows too much actually. Suggests of him giving into emotion... again.

-1 point for being irrational and failing to destroy a security issue

+1 point for showing mercy like a human being

Added a scene in which I have Jin mindlessly doing a chore, but at the same time planning something devious. Suppose to contrast with Altair's adventures, in which he travels around and have novel experiences, but she is still trapped within a cage. But not helpless.

+1 point for Jin for being active and conniving

I chose to skip scenes from Robert De Sable and Al Mualim's deaths b/c they are pretty much straightfoward. I like a few quotes and will use them later. So instead I take lazy way out and write a scene btw Arsuf and Maysaf. So there's a complete skip of time from that scene to the next, in which Altair planned to confront his Master to Altair having already killed him.

-1 point for abusing his horse

And lastly, he originally wanted to pay the Damascus Rafiq a quick visit to warn him of stuff while avoiding Jin. However, she wakes up to find him anyways. A lil cliffhanger at the end b/c chapter was getting too long. (And for you nasty ppl to imagine what will occur behind closed doors.)

+1 point for Jin for being able to catch Altair in the short time frame he is in Damascus

-1 point for being clumsy and thus resulting in a most awkward reunion

Final results:

Altair: 0

Jin: 1

Sorry if the time seems like it is skipping around. But there should be a long passage of time, several months in fact, after Altair left Damascus. In which he went about his assassin duties, kills his own Master, and begins to rebuild the Brotherhood. That's as far as the actual game plot line goes. Now I shall have absolute creative liberty for what happens next! muahaha

According to Wiki, Richard the Lionheart won the battle at Arsuf. I can only assume it was after he meets Altair. Anyone who can prove otherwise, please do.

And I wrote all of that just so I can break the 5,000 word count. Woot!


	6. Chapter 6

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Chapter 6

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His Master had always stressed the importance of patience. It is a virtue that all great, wise men possess, Al Mualim had told him.

Then again, his Master's dead.

Altair flings the girl to the bed. His irritation is evident all over his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demands of her as he looms above her by the cot.

Jin watches him mutely. Refusing to answer.

"I have not seen you for several months, and then first thing you do when you see me is to attack me?"

"You have brought it all onto yourself!" She does not care that her voice is rising beyond acceptable volumes. The Rafiq can probably hear them anyways. "You have left me here, all alone! With no word of where you will be or when you will come back. This is a prison too, no better than the brothel. They watch me eat, sleep, and for all I know, when I shit! How dare you promise me better things when all you did was to abandon me at the first chance?"

He grits his teeth. Patience.

"I never promised you anything. Nor am I responsible for what happens to you."

"Camel dung!," she spits out, "Then why did you rescue me from the fire? Why rescue me from the guards? Why do you begin these things and then leave me worse than I was before?"

He whips around and pushes her down into the bed. His face is steel cold as he rasps out, "What would you have me do then? Bring you along to bear witness to the murders I have committed? To watch as I stain my blade with the blood of my own teacher?"

His pain is evident to her. She can see the anguish and the regret lingering on his face. But pride will not let her back down.

"So what? Is that not what you do? Kill people? I already accepted it!" Jin hisses back with equal ferocity, "Have you?"

Altair closes his eyes.

Al Mualim continues to haunt him. And his words surface even now.

"_Who you are and what you do are entwined too tight together."_

Altair ibn La-Ahad defines the word 'assassin'. He is a killer and will always be.

He should have accepted it long ago. Maybe the day he received his hidden blade and lost his ring finger. Or even earlier. When he swore his allegiance to the Brotherhood and his Master.

But he did not.

She sees the opening, and wanting retribution for the earlier humiliation in the corridor, Jin continues, "Why should I not watch? I have seen much ugliness of reality and swallowed it. Have you seen a young girl ripped from her parent's embrace to be made into a prostitute all for want of a few coins? Have you heard the cries of the women in the night as men brutally force themselves upon them? Have you cleaned up after each customer? Subjected to see and smell the residue of their rutting on the sheets?" She pauses for breath. "Where is your brand of justice now?"

His eyes snap open. He does not want to hear more.

Before she can open her mouth to speak again, he crushes her lips with his. So hard that he is sure it will bruise.

Silence.

It is what he wants.

Jin is still and unmoving. She is neither accepting or denying him.

Never has he wanted to kill and fuck a female so badly. Maybe he can do both.

His sick thoughts catch up to him quickly. As swiftly as he started, he pulls away.

Tawny amber scours her face for a reaction.

Surprise. Disbelief. And just a tinge of fear.

Altair sighs. He rolls off of her, and stares up at the ceiling. All the rage is gone, and in its place sorrow emerges.

His voice, when he does gather the will to speak, is full of repentance. "I did not bring you along because Damascus is the safest place for you right now. To tell you any more than you need to know is just foolish. The less you know, the better."

His rough kiss is still burning on her tender lips. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. That was not a gesture of affection. Not even close.

No, it was a sign of dominance. And she despised it.

Although she wants to, she cannot hate him.

He is speaking, but she cannot hear the words. She only hears the grief in his voice.

"You mourn for your Master," she softly says. It is not a question, but he answers it anyways.

"He took me in when I had no one. He was family, friend and mentor. He gave me my name, fed me, and trained me. He bestowed me with life."

"No, only Allah can do that. You chose your life. You chose to become an assassin. You chose."

"And I chose to kill him. The one person who gave me a clear purpose," he answers in a muffled voice.

Jin props herself up on her elbows. She turns to look at him.

Altair's face is covered with his right hand so she cannot see his expression. But the slight trembling in his shoulders, and the imperceptible hitches in his breathing tell her all she needs to know. Even though there are no tears coming out of his eyes, she is certain.

He is crying.

She knows he is crying for more reasons than for his Master.

This is a lifetime of regrets that he is shedding. Because he cannot obtain happiness if he still has them. Because they make him a sinner. Because they hold him back from what he needs to become.

Jin does not understand why he leaves himself so vulnerable in front of her. When she does look back to this incident she might have drawn the right conclusions. But what troubles her at that moment is her own turmoil.

Shock from seeing him so suddenly. Nursing such hatred for him but then losing it in an instant. To feel that rough handling of his, and that violent kiss.

Just as she did to him, he also pushed her to her limits.

Her energy all but gone, Jin gently rests her forehead on his shoulder. She lets her tears fall and dampen his robe. She tells herself that she is not crying.

Only shedding the tears he cannot.

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Jin awakens by herself.

Her dry, scratchy eyes and throbbing mouth reminds her of last night's events. She searches the room for his presence. She is disappointed; however, because there is no evidence that another person had spent the night here. He is a careful person after all.

_So he left again. How typical. _

She dresses and washes her face like she normally does. Her morning routine is a comfort, and she readies herself for another day.

She walks into the office, and assures herself to act normal. Like a regular day. Upon finding an empty office, Jin heads into the conservatory where she senses a presence.

"Good morning Rafiq," she cheerfully announces as she enters.

"Same to you."

Jin stops and takes a double look. The voice does not belong to the Rafiq.

Reclining on the floor rug with a plate of food within arm's reach, Altair gives her a cursory glance and then goes back to eating.

Her mouth is open, she realizes dumbly, and she shuts it with a clamp. She cannot find the right muscles to move so she stands there. Looking at the man eating his breakfast so peacefully and ignoring her as if nothing transgressed last night.

"Jin, your breakfast is ready. It should be there in the room," Rafiq's voice drifts from the room that serves as his store.

Jin eyes the sole plate of food and then glances at Altair.

He smirks in reply, and gestures for her to sit down next to him.

"Do not assume that I have completely forgiven you," she warns him as she sits down and begins to ruthlessly tear into a loaf of bread. He inclines his head silently.

"Or that I will let you leave without a word again." He nods again.

He is staring off into space and while slowly chewing a piece of dried fruit. She shrugs, and goes back to eating. Only when she is finished does he speak.

"Have you been useful in your time here?" he asks quietly.

Jin hesitates for a bit. She is only guessing at what he meant by that question. But she answers truthfully.

"I have restored the majority of my medical supplies. I am currently working on a new project. A kind in which I have no experience in."

He seems interested. Jin continues, "I am mixing a batch of poison from oleander and rhubarb leaves. Oleander can be dried and still maintain its toxicity, while the rhubarb leaves can be cooked with liquid to increase the side effects."

Altair regards her carefully. "And what gave you the idea to start mixing poisons?"

"To poison the Rafiq of course, and anyone else that will stand in the way of my freedom," Jin answers candidly, "It will probably just give him an extreme form of vomiting and diarrhea, but it should allow me to escape."

His mouth forms a line of disapproval, but the laughter in his eyes suggest otherwise.

"I see you are serious in forging your own path. Allowing you to stay here any longer will be a risky endeavor for the poor Rafiq. Let us make a deal then," he extends his right hand towards her and offers, "I will bring you along on my trip to Jerusalem, and in return, you shall offer all of your knowledge and assistance whenever possible."

Jin looks at him suspiciously. The offer is too good to be true. This has to be a trap.

As if reading her mind, Altair adds, "I can see you have been spending your time well. And that you will be useful to me. That, and I need to make sure you do not ever speak of last night to anyone. Understand?"

She takes his hand then. Shakes his hand firmly and announces, "Deal."

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They arrive inside the Holy Land dusty and travel-weary.

Altair immediately heads towards the Assassin's Bureau situated within Jerusalem, and he introduces her as a woman to the Rafiq. However, he has arranged for them to have separate rooms, and Jin can only guess at what he told the Bureau leader.

He assigns her the task of exploring the city and collecting information on Saladin's men. Useful or not, he listens to her reports every evening while they break bread together. After a quiet meal, he usually leaves her by herself and goes to consult with the Rafiq and other Brothers.

Jin decides that Jerusalem is a wondrous city. A pleasant change from the lazy, sunny vermilion of Damascus. The buildings are majestic, and its people are diverse. She can wander the entire day away and not see the same scenery, or the same people twice. Her task is an enjoyable one, if not for the fact that eyes are watching at every moment.

She knows it is not Altair, but Brothers sent to keep her safe. But the illusion of freedom is once again, vanishing before her.

The young girl had wanted to protest to Altair, but before she could, an incident made her grateful for her invisible bodyguards.

She had seen a child filch an apple from a merchant's stand. A ruthless soldier caught the boy and was about to cut off the child's hand in punishment when she stepped in. She had offered to pay for the apple, but the guard only sneered at her. He named a ridiculously high price for the urchin's freedom, and she protested.

What followed was only recalled in snatches.

He must have hit her hard. And she must have fallen on her head for she cannot recall exactly what happened.

Only that when she opened her eyes the street was empty and the guard laid dead before her. A dagger protruded from his heart, and the corpse was bathed in pool of blood. His eyes were rolled back and his released bowels emitted a strong stench.

A Brother in disguise offered her a hand, which she took. He led her back to the Bureau, and the episode was never mentioned again.

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The hanging lamp casts an eerie glow over the numerous maps and battle plans strewn over the table. Tactics, formations, and locations of supply lines all eventually blur together in a jumble of words and ink.

The man called Saladin ad-Din Ayyub massages the bridge of his nose tiredly.

This war is more than taking its toll on his mental abilities, its demands are also grueling on his body. He can only hope that his opponent, Richard The Lionheart is also suffering from this damn Crusade of his.

Then maybe the arrogant head of his can finally see the futility of this war. Hundreds of their soldiers perished at Arsuf, and now hundreds more will die for possession of Jerusalem.

The stern military leader was returning his attention back to the papers in front of him when a scuffling of feet near his tent entrance alerts him to another man's presence.

He sighs wearily and does not look up from the maps. "What matter brings you here at this hour?"

"I come to offer another solution to this war."

Saladin stiffens. This is not one of his soldiers or servants.

He lifts his head and sees a man clothed in the white robes of scholarly monks. The heavy metal gauntlets, array of weapons strapped onto his figure, and that blood red sash tell the commander that this is no regular academic.

"Assassin," he sneers. He has lost many loyal subjects to their faction, and there definitely is no love lost between them.

In spite of that, the military leader does not unsheathe his sword, or make an effort to defend himself.

"I suppose if you wanted to kill me I would already be dead."

The assassin nods his head.

_Oh, an arrogant fellow. _

Saladin grimaces. "Tell me why I should not summon my guards and have you arrested."

"Because I have a plan to disengage the army besieging Jerusalem within a week. That, and your guards are," he pauses emphatically, "indisposed at the moment."

"Speak then."

"I realize the fruitlessness of assassinating King Richard. His army will just destroy and pillage without restrain. However, there are ways I can render him unable to command. With their leader incapable of commanding the armies, his men will no doubt lose their morale and retreat. All you would have to do is destroy their supply lines to hasten their departure. All on one condition."

The man's eyebrow lifts in curiosity. "And that is?"

"To give me your word that you will not attack them while they are vulnerable. To do so will only give them an excuse to retaliate. And I will not help you then."

"You insult my honor as a Muslim and a commander. I will never assault a defenseless army. But tell me, how do you plan to accomplish this?"

The cold smile the stranger gives him chills Saladin to the bone.

"We will see," he answers cryptically as he exits into the velvet, dark night.

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He finds her one night tending her wounds. With all those baggy clothing she covers herself with, there was no way he could have seen those bandages in broad daylight. The room is surprisingly dark, with no candles shedding friendly glows. The only source of light she has to work with is the faint gleam from the moon. But the girl moves in such a smooth and practiced manner that he is sure this is not the first time.

So concentrated she is in her task, she does not notice him until his hand gently touches her exposed shoulder. Jin jumps at his touch and almost yelps out loud.

"Peace."

"You scared me!"

His finger goes over his mouth in a request for silence. The Rafiq might be asleep but, like all Brothers, he sleeps light. Jin pauses and lowers her voice a few decibels.

"Do you never tire of sneaking up on me?"

"Never mind that. What has happened to you?"

The girl shrugs nonchalantly. "The same thing that always happens when soldiers are in ill temper. Lucky for me your friends are always following me."

The sarcasm in her voice is evident, but Altair ignores it. Instead, he scans her condition critically.

Her scarf has been taken off, and one pale, slender arm pokes out from her tunic. He can see the purpling bruises where blows have been dealt on her pale skin.

Her scantily clad state finally dawns upon Jin, and her face flushes deeply. Hastily, she pulls the shirt up and turns away.

"This is highly inappropriate."

The man scoffs impatiently. With a smooth motion, he approach her from right side and turns her back towards him.

"You lived in a brothel, and walk the streets impersonating a man. I daresay you are the model of decorum and appropriate behavior," Altair reproaches as he pulls down the shirt, exposing the entire shoulder as well as her back.

Jin closes her eyes at his sharp intake of breath. She does not need to turn around to see the stricken face, the pity that will emit from his eyes.

"What is this?" Altair hisses violently.

Puckered, disfigured skin, with discoloration that contrasts painfully against her naturally pale skin meets his eyes. He cannot tear his gaze from the canvas of destruction that spans from the right side of her neck to her lower back. During his travels, the Master Assassin has seen many scars and injuries. Men with missing limbs, women with sores covering their faces, and children with deformed bodies. But nothing quite like this.

"It happened when I was small. There was a fire in one of Talal's warehouses. A beam from the burning ceiling fell on my back… and resulted in this."

"Burns do not bring about this kind of scar," he snarls darkly. True, the scars and puckering is too widespread to be caused by a single beam. And there are scars criss-crossing each other in a methodical fashion. Altair gingerly brush his fingertips along her back, tracing the paths of suffering. Jin tenses at his touch, but does not shy away. His fingers are warm, and he is uncharacteristically gentle.

She mumbles under her breath. "Talal is not one to show mercy to the weak. He was not willing to waste any resources on treatment. Some slaves died, and some did not. I learned to keep my cries to myself. The hard way."

"I killed him too quickly then. He should have suffered thrice as much pain," Altair snarls menacingly. His tone evokes a shiver through her body, and she quickly pulls up her shirt to cover the atrocity.

Humiliation tinges her voice and gives it a strange inflection. "This is the reason why I did not become a prostitute. It is a blessing in disguise. No man would ever consider touching this body. It would be like bedding a piece of rotting flesh," Jin laughs humorlessly at her own morbid joke. She sneaks a glance at Altair, but his expression is dark and unreadable.

After a few unbearable minutes, he places his hand on her shoulder and says in a grave voice, "Jinan, a terrible wrong has been done upon you. But do not be ashamed of your body. This is proof that against all the hardships tossed in your way, you have managed to live on to this day."

She turns her head to look at him. There is no suggestion of deception in his face. His gaze, clear and piercing as always, meets hers. She mouths a silent thank you because her throat decides at that moment to close.

Altair nods in understanding. He does not leave though, even though she waits for him to.

He reaches down to the roll of bandages, and begins to wind it around the injuries on her arm. As he finishes, he muses out loud.

"With all these medicine you have, you do not have one that will mend scars?"

"If such a medicine do exist, it is still impossible to completely heal the skin. The skin on my back is already dead and shows no sign of regenerating," Jin mutters.

"Does it… hurt?"

"Not too much. I have a cream that I apply occasionally to soften the scabs. I usually avoid direct contact though."

With a sharp pang, Altair remembers all the time he used force on her. The first time they met, when he tackled her to the floor. Or in Damascus when he slammed her into the wall in anger.

_She must have been in pain. But she never once complained. _

"Where is this cream? Can I see it?"

Jin, not daring to turn around when she is so exposed, tells him it is in the shelf behind him. Altair sees a well used covered jar sitting among the usual bottles. He takes it down, and approaches her.

"What are you doing?" she gasps as his hand slathers a generous amount of the cooling balm on her back and proceeds to rub it in a rhythmic motion, "I never use that much at once. The ingredients are expensive-" He interrupts her briskly.

"I can give you the money to buy more. Be quiet, it must be hard to apply the ointment on your own back," he commands.

This is definitely a breach of physical boundaries, Jin thinks and cringes inwardly. Nevertheless, she stops resisting and falls silent.

She has always thought he is a cold, aloof person who's first concern is himself. But having him here, tending to her injuries like this, she cannot help but feel her chest tighten uncomfortably. His rare kindness, his gentle touches, they make her wish for things that she cannot, should not, have.

If Altair saw her tears, he does not say anything. Once he is done, he bids her good night and leaves her in the darkness.

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The newly-appointed Rafiq of Jerusalem prides himself in being one of the most discrete man he knows. Ever since he was little, he knew how to keep secrets and to know when a situation calls for silence instead of words. He knows that as a listener and observer, he gets to learn more without revealing about himself.

So when he sees the assassin called Altair had brought an extra person to the Bureau, he says nothing. When he disclosed the fact that the petite youth is actually a woman, the Rafiq only frowned but kept his mouth shut. And when he noticed Altair entering the woman's chambers every evening and then returning to his own room, he chose to look the other way.

He only heard stories of the legendary Altair. Of his achievements at such a young age and his skill with the blade. He had also heard of his ambition for the glory of the Brotherhood.

It shocks him to see this man affiliating himself with such an unsavory woman. And for him to see her every night! The Rafiq shudders when he imagines the indecencies that must have occurred behind closed doors.

But it is not in his place to question his leader. Now that Al Mualim is dead, the one in charge should go to the next highest office. He does not doubt Altair's ability to lead, but he does worry for his health.

It is to ease a bit of his own anxiety that the young Rafiq places a package in Altair's room when the assassin is out. Where he is sure to see it later and make good use of it.

The Rafiq then congratulates himself silently and goes back to work.

A few hours passes by idly, and when he looks up again, Altair is standing in the doorway.

"Ah, come in my friend. How may I be of service?" the Rafiq asks politely.

The assassin strides into the office, and tosses the package on the table.

"What is this?"

"That is for you."

"What," Altair stresses each word carefully, "Is. This?"

The Rafiq struggles for words. He had not foreseen this. Does this man of his early twenties really do not know of contraceptives?

"Ah well… you see… you use those when you-"

Altair impatiently interrupts him. "Yes, I am well aware of what it does. But why was it in my room?"

"My apologies for taking liberties, but I had thought since you see the girl every night… that you should be careful of your health," the Rafiq mumbles and refusing to meet the piercing gaze of his superior.

Altair unleashes the full weight of his glare at him for a few more minutes. After deciding the poor man has suffered enough, he coldly replies, "I have no need for these. The girl can make her own contraceptives." _Not like she needs to._

The Rafiq hurriedly takes away the offending package and utters an apology. Altair nods in acknowledgment and leaves.

He does not bother telling the Rafiq that he is completely mistaken. He only goes to her room to help her apply ointment to her back, and he never overstays his welcome.

But why have men questioning his motives? That is what led him to distrust Al Mualim in the first place.

He stops in front of Jin's room and knocks.

Jin opens the door and upon seeing him, ushers him in quietly.

They have gone past the initial stages of discomfort. She obediently sits on the edge of the bed while he retrieves the jar. He sits down and lifts the back of her tunic for her to hold in place as he begins.

His hand draws out a generous portion of the cream as he spreads it out on puckered skin. He moves in cyclic motions, willing the ointment to seep deeply into the dead tissue and somehow initiate a recovery.

Usually it is her that breaks the silence with daily reports or ramblings, but today Altair speaks first.

"I need you to make a poison for me. And the side effects have to be specific."

Curiosity as well as dread creeps into her voice. "What kind?"

"It cannot be life-threatening. It should be slow to act. About a few hours should be good. And it should be tasteless so that it can be dissolved in wine. Make it strong enough so that the victim will be bed-ridden and rendered insensible for weeks. Something close to a common disease would be helpful."

"Anything else? Maybe you would like the person to see flashes of light and crave watermelons?" Jin airily asks.

Altair bristles slightly at her jibe. His hand pauses in mid-motion and then continues.

"Jin, this is a serious matter. Lives are at stake," he admonishes her.

"But what you ask is nearly impossible!"

"I have full confidence in your abilities. That serious wound you dressed on my body has healed swiftly and did not even leave a trace of a scar."

Jin remains unconvinced. "I have only started my research on noxious plants. And I did not even get a chance to test out my last one."

Altair exhales forcefully. Every time he converses with this girl, it turns into a drawn-out debate. There is a headache looming in the near future.

"So I am to assume the three Brothers who all came down with the fever last week contracted the sickness outside of the Bureau? Even when they fell sick all at the same time?." Her stiffening shoulders are all the answer he needs. He is done applying treatment, and he lifts his hand away from her back.

"You thought your latest creation did not work. Because the Rafiq and I are still healthy. But I have been careful about which food I eat and so did he. So congratulations, your poisons do work. Now you should have no problems working on my request."

"Am I to know what it is for?" she asks, resigned.

"No." The answer is curt, brusque.

He pulls down her shirt. Gets up to leave.

At the doorway, he pauses and adds, "And you have six days to complete it."

* * *

Notes: Huh, hope we can reach a happy compromise here. Readers no doubt wanted a dirty, smutty, angry make-up sex scene. The writer here, usually does the exact opposite. But I had some physical contact going on anyways... Sides, that's next chapter. ;D (Oh what? I did not just go there...)

I notice Jin's crying alot this chapter. It must be that time of the month, it shall never happen again! At least.. not twice in a chapter. And now we know why Jin wasn't a prostitute. She was sold to Mama Kathlum solely on her abilities with medicine.

Gasp! Am I actually inserting a lil plot line here? Guess so... b/c I would love it if Altair can single-handedly change history... again. Without getting all bloody. And with a woman's help. xP

Lol Thanks for the funny and encouraging reviews. Definitely makes my day when I read them. xD

Misc: I just finished Altair Chronicles on a DS Emulator. Played it purely to see what the heck is going on with him and Adha. *spoilers* Quite disappointed I must say, their relationship (or a sad excuse of one) is not developed or even explained properly. Don't even know why he was willing to get on a ship with her after just meeting with her once. And I don't even know why she's so special to be called the Chalice. Gahhhhh


	7. Chapter 7

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Chapter 7

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She finds him tending his wounds one night. They are not serious injuries, no, he rarely let an enemy's sword draw blood, but shallow wounds. His shirt lies on the ground nearby, and she can see the light scrapes on his right cheek as well his chest.

It is rare that she sees him without his hood. Or a shirt.

She stops at the doorway to admire him quietly. His imposing features, and those impressive muscles are things she will never become accustomed to. Which is good.

One should never grow comfortable around an assassin.

"If you are done staring, I suggest that you go back to your business. There are less than two days to finish your task."

His voice, crisp and terse, gives no indication of self consciousness. Not like when he caught her with her body exposed.

Jin scoffs at his tone, and then turns back to go into her room. Within a few moments, she comes back holding something in her hand. She walks right up to where he is sitting on the cot.

"Here, chew this," she says as her palm opens to reveal a small, brown pellet.

"What is it?"

"A pain reliever. My own mixture from cannabis extracts."

"I must have my senses alert at all time. Pain means nothing to men like me," he growls.

Her green eyes soften at his barbed comment. She does not realize it, but she has been around him long enough to know he is not angry or offended. That with all these years of isolation and bloodshed, this is his way of dealing with unexpected kindness.

Jin takes a few steps to stand right in front of him and with a hand, reaches out to gingerly touch the slight wound on his cheek. She expects him to flinch away from her touch, whether from the pain of contact or from her proximity, it really does not matter. Because then she can make him eat the pill.

But Altair remains still. Staying motionless, his eagle-like gaze follows her every move unnervingly. He knows that moving away will be his defeat, and so he stands his ground firmly.

"How did you acquire these?" Jin asks in a hushed murmur. She can feel her face growing hot under his unwavering stare, but since she started this battle of wills, she can only see it through. She resolves her hand to not shake, and to keep its position on his face.

"A particular person, with a particularly strong punch, and a particular stall happened to cross my path."

Jin notes the usage of past tense grimly. Obviously that particular person is no longer breathing.

He has told her of the many interrogations he must carry out. And in order to do so, he must fight with fists, and not with blade. Skilled assassin that he is, in a fist fight with a man taller, bigger than him, he cannot help but sustain injuries.

She sighs, not impatiently, and informs him, "This is my own mixture. Regular cannabis extracts do dull the wits, but my methods have been tested true. On myself of course."

An unexpected ambush this is. He cannot help but smirk a little.

_This little minx has so many tricks. So she thinks she can win this one eh?_

Altair's hand comes up slowly to grasp the hand holding the pellet. Carefully, he pulls her open palm towards his mouth, and with a sensual brush of his lips, takes the pill from her offering hand. With a quick glance up at her frozen face, Altair's grin grows even wider as he silently congratulates himself on an unquestionable victory.

He does not let go of her hand; however, at least, not until he is sure that she knows of his intentions. Even a chaste nun can tell that it is lust; pure, wanton need, that is clearly being broadcasted. Jin knows this. She has not grown up in a brothel to be unfamiliar with the desires of men.

But it is her own awakening hunger that catches her off guard.

To her own alarm, Jin realizes she wants physical intimacy almost as much as he does. She has found him attractive ever since the first time when he fell into her room. But she knew what a dangerous man he is and can be. Desiring a man like him is foolhardy. And she is certain that unlike him, her feelings of lust can easily turn into deeper, stronger emotions. That is why she has forced herself to forget that he is a man.

But to have him look at her in that manner, that way… A thousand lies will not be able cover the truth.

She must have blinked, for suddenly his face is very close. The distance between them grows smaller by the second. Or minutes. Or by an eternity.

Jin cannot even tell. Or care for that matter. For a foreign touch is caressing her lips, and she can only presume he is kissing her.

This is different from the last kiss he forced upon her. That one was brutal, callous, and uncaring. This… this is different.

He is watching her as they kissed. His golden eyes bear down upon hers, looking, no, more like searching for something. And she is scared of what he might find. So Jin closes her eyes, not wanting yield to that scrutinizing gaze, but instead loses herself to the pleasurable sensations. His lips are surprisingly gentle, and when he moves a certain way, his day-old stubble grazes her skin. There is a subtlety to his kisses and caresses that is so characteristic of him. It is not difficult to mold her own mouth to his movements, and she lets out a shuddering sigh.

All of sudden, the kiss changes. Like unleashing a flood, a torrent of movements, pressures, and touches pour into her. He pulls her down onto his lap. His hands are everywhere, exploring every part, every shape of her body. Her own body is now pressing into his, and even though her hands were originally at his chest to push off, they are now traitorously entangling themselves around his neck. His lips are more demanding, prying open hers to gain entrance to her mouth.

Altair does not even spare the girl a moment to adjust as his tongue flicks out and he begins an intimate exploration. There is a yearning to know every single part of her. Inside and out so that all her mysteries are lying out in the open for him. She starts pulling away, but his hand snakes behind her head and he firmly holds her in place. His other hand shifts from its position on her hip and daringly moves up underneath her shirt to cup a breast through her bindings. The small moan in which she rewards him almost sends him over.

Jin cannot deny the intruding tongue. Its slick, bold strokes are tormenting her senses. A warmth is curling in the pit of her stomach, moving down to the juncture at her legs. She feels something, deep inside of her, on the verge of exploding.

As if he is reading her body at the same time she is awakening to it, he draws away. With an arrogant glance, he is pleased to see that her face is flushed scarlet, her breathing is uneven, and her pulse beating erratically.

"You were right. I feel much, much better," Altair all but purrs at her.

Quite the opposite really. If that forceful bulge in his pants gives any indication. He has to make a conscious effort to regulate his breathing. His own body is now tightly drawing taut and begging for release. But she does not have to know.

Jin opens her eyes slowly. His words are not registering within her mind. Like trudging through thick mud, she tries to make sense of his statement.

_He is referring to… the pill?_

The hazy veil lifts as she takes in his smug expression, their scandalous position, and that- that audacious hand underneath her shirt with dismay. Furthermore, there is a familiar taste in her mouth. She focuses on it, and to her surprise it is no other than her own medicinal tablet. He must have given it back in the middle of their heated kiss. If it is even possible, her face flushes to a deeper shade of crimson.

"I-I must be g-getting back,' she stammers.

He does not stop her as she quickly whirls away and retreats back to her own chambers. After all, he has met his objective.

_There is no better way to give the impudent girl a taste of her own medicine, _Altair commends himself silently, but even he cannot deny the twinge of disappointment.

He falls back into his bed and shuts his eyes.

Immediately, memories of her smell, the small moans she unconsciously makes, and that irresistible taste of her mouth begins to torture him. A paradise within a personal hell, she is.

Sleep will not come easy tonight.

In spite of everything he did to claim victory, she is not the only one who does not win.

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"My liege! Enemy approaching!"

King Richard the Lionheart looks up from his discussion with his generals. The scout is huffing and puffing as he runs up to him.

"A small group of men comes this way. They bear the Saracen truce flag. Should we allow them into the camp?"

The burly Frenchman lifts an eyebrow. "If they come with the truce flag, why should we not let them in? Please, show the guests our courtesy. I shall see to them myself."

"Your majesty," his personal aid speaks up, "What shall we do about your brother Sir John?"

King Richard makes a disgruntled grunt and waves his hand dismissingly. His brother John is suppose to be ruling in England as a regent whilst he is fighting for the Holy Land. However, recent events suggest that John and the King of France are plotting to seize the throne themselves.

He is fighting a battle on both sides.

"Let my little brother play around for a while longer. There are more important matters at hand," he answers absentmindedly.

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For the fifth time that day, Jin peeks out from her headdress at Altair and wonders what exactly is the man planning.

This is the first occasion she ventures outside in the open dressed as a women. Her entire body is swathed in a turquoise burqa, which spans from her head to her ankles. There is a small slit of opening for her eyes, and she sees the world outlined by a veil of lace. She carries in her arms a basket of fruits, and a wineskin mixed with the poison that Altair requested for.

Altair is dressed differently too. Instead of his assassin garb, he is clothed in civilian clothing. Drab muslin and bland colors. His face is not shadowed by his usual white hood. Instead, he has a black keffieh covering his shaven head.

What worries her is that he carries no weapons. Not even his metal gauntlets containing his hidden blade. Instead, he gives her a small dagger, with a hilt of silver, to conceal within her robes which she strapped to her right calf. She has instructions to take her own life if capture is inevitable, but on no grounds to attack soldiers with it. No matter what happens to them.

Ever since that passionate episode in his room, the taciturn assassin has avoided all interaction with her. The few words he exchanged with her were to give her instructions. She has no idea what is to happen. The slight girl cannot help but tense up in apprehension as she takes in the colors of the Crusader's flag approaching near.

It seems like nothing but a suicide mission.

The Saracen soldiers escort them as far as they can go. Which is at the border of the enemy's encampment.

Crusaders, imposing in their heavy chain mail and steel helmets, greet them cordially. They take over, and lead them to a huge white pavilion, which no doubt is King Richard's receiving room.

A guard stops Altair at the entrance, and he gestures to the surrounding men. They immediately begins patting and searching his person in an intrusive manner. When they are satisfied, they turns towards her.

"Please, do not touch her. Women of Islam will be deeply disgraced if men other than her husband lay as much as a hand on her. She only bears Saladin's gifts and is here on good faith," Altair smoothly interjects in foreign tongue.

Jin glances at him in surprise. She did not know he knew English.

The main guard regards her carefully, and then nods his assent.

They enter and are promptly seated at a table already laid out with food. There is a man, with flaming red facial hair sitting down at the far end. He is flanked on both sides by guards. His eyes are sharp and alert. Like a lion on the prowl.

This is King Richard of the Crusaders, Jin realizes with a start.

"Welcome, ambassadors of Saladin. Please, help yourself to the provisions here," booms King Richard.

"Thank you. On behalf of Saladin, I present you with some modest gifts. Please accept them," Altair answers calmly while lightly pushing Jin in front of him. Other than his heavy Arabic accent, his control over her native language is near perfection. Jin faintly ponders when he learned the tongue.

She picks her way forward to the imposing man. She places the basket of pears and figs in front of him, and lays the wineskin incongruously by its side.

The guards stationed at the man's side visibly tensed as she neared them, but does not move to stop her. Jin can see the reason why Altair has brought her here. A woman presents a lesser threat. No doubt to put the enemy more at ease.

"Is this charming girl one of his gifts?" King Richard jokingly asks.

"Unfortunately no. She is my wife. I will be most distressed if you take her as one of your concubines," Altair banters back. He glances at her, and smirks at the flashing green behind the veil.

Jin swallows her objections. His instructions for her were to remain silent and play along. Lives of the thousands of soldiers depend on their performance today. She settles for a silent glare at Altair through her veil which he easily brushes away.

"Oh, she must be very important to you if you allow her to follow you to places such as this."

Altair smiles wanly back. "She worries so much for my well being that it is impossible tell her otherwise."

Underneath the concealing burqa, Jin bites down on her lips to hold back a smart retort. Her hands are itching to wipe that teasing grin off of the arrogant man's face.

He is enjoying this opportunity in which she cannot argue back.

King Richard throws back his head and laughs. "Your wit is pleasing to my ears. Tell me, have we met before? Your voice and features seem familiar to me."

Altair pauses in consideration and then slowly sets his left hand on the table.

"I believe we first met at Arsuf."

The older man catches a glimpse of the hand with the missing finger and remembers.

"Ah, so I see. Have you renounced your occupation as an assassin, got yourself a wife and family, and turned to peace-making instead?" The guards immediately tensed up at the word assassin, and their hands clutch at the swords at their side.

Altair notes this, but remains unperturbed. "Not quite. But the purpose of today's visit is to bring peace. Though it seems that I am on the Saracen's side, I can assure you that I am not. My organization is an independent and neutral party in this war. But like everyone else, my wish is for the senseless bloodshed to stop and to hasten the formation of a peace treaty."

"Such a serious issue you have opened up with. I must weigh it with careful consideration. On the other hand, I cannot properly think without something in my stomach. Tell me, do you think your young wife will also like to eat some?"

Jin almost answers, but then shuts her mouth. She looks at Altair, who nods back. King Richard offers her a fruit from the basket she presented him with.

_Smart man_, she thinks to herself. _If it was poisoned I would think twice about eating it. _

Showing no hesitation, she takes the yellow pear from his hand and lifts the veil which covers the front of her face. She lifts the fruit to her mouth and begins to eat it. When she is done, she sets down the core on an empty plate.

King Richard notes her actions with a pleased smile.

"Saladin knows that I do like the pears from this country. Tell me, what is in the skin?"

"Famous fermented barley spirits. Unfortunately, strict followers of the teachings of Islam prevents Saladin from drinking it. Another reason why I was sent in his place," Altair evenly replies.

At his signal, Jin quietly pours the contents of the bag into two empty goblets. She sets one down in front of the king, and then she walks to her 'husband' with the other. Her green eyes searches his beseechingly.

He must know that the poison is mixed in with the wine. That and she did not have the time to prepare an antidote for its effects.

Altair must have seen the warning in her gaze. He accepts the cup willingly. In a barely audible whisper, he thanks her and praises her on a job well done. The sincere smile he gives her is like a blanket to her mounting anxiety. She helplessly retreats back to her place by the table.

In the course of several hours, she has gotten up often to refill their cups. Underneath her veil, she observes the two carefully.

While Altair remains mysteriously unaffected, beads of sweat have gathered on the other man's forehead. The nobleman have continually shifted during the last couple of minutes, and he grows increasingly uncomfortable.

Jin looks back at Altair again. He sits cross-legged on the floor rug, his face the epitome of composure and relaxation. There is no irregular breathing, no sweat on his brow, and his golden eyes takes in the king's gradual deterioration with no expression.

"I think it is time for us to take our leave. I am sure my wife is tired and needs her rest," Altair says even though his body language shows no sign of fatigue.

King Richard nods his consent weakly and replies, "My soldiers will see you out. Forgive me for I cannot do so in person. There are other matters I must attend to."

"I understand, I thank you for taking the time to speak to me."

Altair beckons to her, and Jin rises to her feet and joins him quickly. She hastens to catch up to his fast strides, and they walk back to Jerusalem in silence. The Saracen soldiers, meets with them on the outskirts of the city, and escorts them past the guards at the main gate. After Altair exchanges a brief word with their leader, the soldiers leave them to their own devices .

It is not until they walked a few blocks that he falters. A tiny misstep, and she is there. Offering a shoulder for him to lean on. He gratefully accepts.

"Here I was, wondering if you had your own antidote," Jin murmurs softly, "You are handling the side effects pretty well."

Altair clenches his teeth and does not answer. Suddenly, he pushes her off and dashes into a dark alley. Sounds of heavy vomiting reaches Jin's ears, and she cringes.

She finds him bent over on the ground, with bile dripping from his mouth. All the food he ate earlier lies in a steaming pile near her feet. The stench is making her gag, but she holds her breath.

"Can you stand?" she asks as she bends down to his level. Altair does not respond to her voice, and dread crashes down on her.

_Have I made the poison too strong? How many cups did he have? Did I… kill them both?_

She places a hand on his forehead, and hisses at the hotness that meets her touch. His eyes are closed, and his face is set in a pained grimace. She quickly checks the pulse at his wrist, and is surprised to find his entire arm wet with perspiration.

"You idiot!" She curses at him. He probably cannot hear her anyways.

She wriggles herself underneath one of his arm, and tries to lift him. No use.

He is too heavy for her petite frame to handle.

Frustration and panic creeps into her. She cannot leave him here. The Bureau is too far away. She scours the crowd for a familiar face. Anyone who can help. But the guards-

A noise behind her causes her to whip around. Altair is leaning his frame against the wall. Laboriously, he stands to his feet. He walks a few steps forward. His eyes clamped shut the entire time.

Not sparing the time to marvel at his tenacity and willpower, Jin hurriedly moves to support him. She does not complain as the heavy weight is shifted to her shoulders. Her only thoughts are to get him back to the Bureau, as fast and quickly as possible.

Through some act of providence, they manage to drag themselves through the city and into the Assassin's Bureau. The Rafiq exclaims in shock as the two, one drenched in sweat from exertion and the other burning with fever, collapse within his doorway.

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Saladin reads the message with disbelief all over his face.

The messenger resists the urge to inquire, and waits patiently.

Slowly, the Saracen leader sets the paper down. With a loud voice, he orders, "Prepare an embassy to depart for the enemy's camp. Tell them to bring a block of ice and plenty of pears."

After that, Saladin sits down with a dumbfounded expression.

"My lord, may I ask what does the letter say?" The messenger asks, no longer able to resist.

His eyes still staring off into space, Saladin answers, "Richard the Lionheart has fallen ill. He requests an immediate meeting for the arrangement of a peace treaty."

The aide's exclamations of joy is lost upon him. He is not even listening.

His thoughts are revolving around one man: the assassin.

* * *

Notes:

Haha cannabis is a type of plant that when extracted, produces hashish, which is what Hashshashin is derived from. Anyone catch that? eh eh? And it is basically like marijuana... so it does impair some senses.

So with extensive Wiki-researching, I learn that King Richard doesn't know much English and is actually French. For the sake of this fic, he needs to know English. (Plus game developers didn't explain how Richard and Altair conversed in that scene). His brother is the notorious John, who is regent of England when he was away. And spawned Robin Hood and those Men in Tights. lol  
King Richard really did win the battle at Acre, and he was preparing to take Jerusalem when he got sick. Conveniently. That and Saladin was a good Muslim and sent him ice and fruits while he was ill. Everything is as historically correct as I can make it.

Altair:  
+1 for taking medicine and giving it back in a most... interesting manner.  
+1 for an Oscar worthy performance.  
-1 for vomiting and dropping from his status as "sexy eagle god". (Go read the reviews for Ch 3 if you don't understand)  
+1 for ending the Third Crusade  
-1 for not ending it single-handedly and now being in such a state that Jin will have to nurse him back to health... (oh the possiblities)

Jin:  
-1 for being seduced over a med. tablet and starting something she cannot finish.  
+1 for being best Supporting Actress as Altair's wife  
+1 for getting poison in on time  
-1 for not being able to do much while assassin's throwing up in alleyway  
+1 for making this statement true - Behind every great man stands a woman.

Total Score: Altair - 1 , Jin - 2  
She leads by 1! ... although this is totally biased...

...And when you least expect it, I insert random make out session. It was supposed to be a companion scene to last chapter's line when he found her tending her wounds. That's my compensation for those fangirling readers. Btw, some reviews are ridiculous and funny. It's great fun reading them and out loud for my beta.  
We stayed up one night brainstorming the entire story, and we pretty much got it set. I can see how it will end and all that... it's the getting to there and middle part that will be difficult. Now that the Third Crusade is over, I feel like going back to the randomized drabble format I had in the beginning. So there might be lots of timeskips.


	8. Chapter 8

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Chapter 8

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It feels like he is being swallowed up in flames. Burning. Consumed.

Then darkness. An infinite horizon of nothing but blackness.

He cannot see himself. He only has a consciousness of being in that space, in that time.

He feels her. That familiar, yet unfamiliar presence.

"Adha…"

He cannot dare to hope. All those months of searching, and he still cannot find her.

Their time together was short. She is an unfortunate woman, regarded as the Chalice who has enough power to single-handedly end the Crusades. He had meant to take her away from all of that. Meant to see her live out a normal life, as she wanted, without being in the middle of a ruthless power struggle.

But at the last battle in Alep, with his attention was diverted by Basilisk, he had lost her. She was taken away in a ship. She can be anywhere in the world right now.

He can still recall her musical voice. "Altair…"

Still very nauseous and disoriented, Altair opens his bleary eyes.

Adha is above him, overlooking at him with a warm smile. Her eyes, almond-shaped and sky-colored, greets him like a long-lost friend.

"…Adha" he breathes. Her visage blurs and begins to melt into another.

He blinks. The tan, smooth skin melts into an ivory shade of porcelain. Crystal blue turns into emerald green. The sultry, mature features of the older woman slowly metamorphoses into the elfin, exotic face of Jin. She looks pained, as if holding back a breath that cannot be expelled.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I traveled to hell and back," Altair rasps.

As if she knows how difficult it is for him to speak, Jin gingerly lifts his head and props it with an extra pillow. She lifts a cup to his mouth.

Too tired to care about what a pitiable position he is in, he sips at the refreshing water.

"Your fever is finally dying down. You have been bedridden for three days now. Any longer and your body would have…" She does not, cannot, bear to finish the sentence.

Instead, she reaches for the bowl on the table and commands him to eat.

To her surprise, he does exactly as she ordered. With shaking hands, he manages to force down a few spoonfuls of porridge before he hands her the bowl back.

"I have not been able to perfect an antidote yet, and right now all I can do is keep your fever down. There is some medicine in the porridge. Are you sure you cannot eat more?" Jin asks methodically.

He nods and closes his eyes against the harsh sunlight.

Altair does not need to open them to see the girl sitting by his bedside, with clenched fists in her lap.

He wonders briefly how long she has been there. And if she really took care of him the last couple of days when he was unconscious. Knowing her, she probably did. And most likely lost sleep because of it. Because of him. Altair grimaces.

"I cannot believe you! You knew very well that there is poison in that wine. That I had no antidote ready for you. Do you know how much I panicked when you keeled over in the-"He interrupts her. "Thank you."

Jin stops in mid rant. She regards him in amazement and almost topples over her chair when she catches the rare smile he gives her.

"Because of your efforts, lives were spared. Be proud Jinan," he murmurs through closed eyes.

Embarrassment colors her cheeks. "But look at you. Look at your pathetic state. Why did you have to put yourself in that kind of ordeal? Surely you could have thought of some other way.."

"That was the most efficient way I could think of. Besides, the worst that could have happened was the loss of one life. In comparison with the thousands we saved, that is more than a fair trade."

_No, lives are not meant to be compared that way_, she wants to blurt out, but she stops herself. Jin would rather bask in his smile and savor the rare peaceful moment to herself.

Of course, which will not last long.

"Who is Adha? Do I remind you of her?" she inquires, curiosity getting the best of her again.

The air stills. She does not need to look up to his face to know the change in Altair is almost instantaneous. As the words are leaving her lips, his body tenses. His amber-colored eyes snap open, and they pierce through her like razor knives.

"What do you know of her?" he barks. Jin jumps back. She does not expect this kind of reaction.

"I-I only heard of her name through you. You just said her name right now, mistaking me for her," Jin stutters, faltering under the intense glare.

Altair digests this for a few minutes. Heavy, tense silence settle between them.

"She must be very important to you," Jin murmurs.

"Mind your own business," he snaps back. Immediately, he regrets his harsh words as Jin's face turn to stone. Her nostrils flare in anger, and her eyes flashes dangerously.

She stands up abruptly and answers through gritted teeth, "If that is so, then maybe it should be her who look after you when you are ill. I have obviously over stayed my welcome." She whips away and before he can think coherently, the room is empty.

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The next time he wakes up, it is not Jin who is by his side but the Rafiq. The Rafiq silently hands the assassin a bowl of steaming porridge. Relief and disappointment flavor the tasteless food as it slides down his throat. Relief because he does not have to go through another argument that will most likely end in loud yelling, but disappointment since she is not here. He almost checks the food for poison.

She is mad enough to avoid him. That is fine with him. There is finally silence in this room, but, after a few hours, Altair realizes there is no peace. He is bedridden, not able to eat, piss, or bathe without assistance. Most of all, he cannot feel the wind rushing by as he flies through the air. He misses the sunlight, the fresh air, and…

No, he does not miss her.

Altair chides himself for being weak. Yes, her mindless chatter will probably be able to distract him from his current pathetic state. And yes, the smile which occasionally graces her face does brighten an entire room. But he does not. Miss. Her.

His resolve on the matter lasts only for a few days. Between the hours of drifting in and out of sleep, his mind cannot settle and is constantly nagging at him one way or another. There is an itch in the back of his mind, and it disturbs him even in sleep. He can almost feel his head teetering on the brink of insanity.

The first time Jin does venture back into the room is to replace the flowers. He was asleep when she did it, and a fresh, blooming spray of yellow jasmine by his bedside greets him when he wakes. The floral aroma timidly fills up the room, and for some odd reason makes him think of the girl, treading lightly on her feet and never imposing.

Altair inhales deeply. He closes his eyes in defeat and sinks back to a dreamless sleep.

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The flowers in his room need to be replaced, they are probably wilted by now, a voice drones on in her mind.

Jin ignores it. She is busy mixing various herbs in a bowl in an endless search for the antidote. The poison will probably run its course and pass out of his system in a few more weeks, but she cannot take that chance.

Already she can see his muscles deteriorating away from the lack of use, and his face turn sunken and sallow with absence of sunlight. She cannot imagine him different from the strong, able man that she has always seen him as. But now, looking at him lying weak in bed, Jin can feel dread creep up her stomach.

Each attempt ended in a failure, and before Jin knew it, she has run out of ingredients. With a determined set of shoulders, she grabs her money pouch and heads out the door.

On the way back from purchasing new herbs, a bright splash of color in the dusty streets causes her to pause.

There is a nearby flower stand by the street. It is run by an blind, elderly widow. The first time she passed by the vendor, the woman had called out to Jin but she ignored her.

But now, the colorful foliage and aromatic scent beckons to her and Jin walks on over. The widow is tying a bouquet together with string and does not pause when she approaches.

"Anything catch your eye my dear?" the elderly woman asks in a dry, creaky voice.

"Everything is nice, but I am just looking."

The woman now pauses in her task. Tilts her head forward a bit, and then inquires, "Something seems to be upsetting you. Your voice is full of conflicting emotions. Tell me of your troubles, for us women must stick together."

Jin starts a bit. But then relaxes. The woman is harmless. Her knowledge of her real gender does not matter.

"My friend is sick… and he does not seem to be getting better."

The hag listens carefully and then waves her wrinkled claw dismissively. "People fall ill and die everyday in this city. That cannot be the only reason."

Jin fumbles for an excuse that will satisfy the old woman, but cannot find it in herself to lie. What is the point of deceiving her?

"I…find myself wishing to be someone else. Someone worth looking at. But at the same time I refuse to change myself because I like who I am," Jin resignedly replies.

"Is this wish because of the sick friend?" Jin nods slowly, but then remembers the woman is blind and answers quietly.

"Seems like you harbor more feelings than those of friendship," the widow says wistfully, "How I recall those days of young love, so passionate and consuming. However, if you truly wish to be treasured by him, know this: A steady tree within a violent storm is thousand fold more precious than a beautiful flower who only blooms in good weather."

Jin opens her mouth to protest against the woman's assumptions, but then decides better of it. She can probably hear the lie anyways.

With a slight blush in her cheeks, Jin replies, "The last time I spoke to him it was out of anger. I wish to apologize, but I really do not know how-"

"Say no more," the widow holds up a wizened hand. With practiced ease, the elderly woman counts the notches on the table until she finds what she is looking for. She gently picks up a sprig of purple flowers and holds it out to Jin.

"These are purple hyacinth, they represent sorrow and forgiveness. If your intentions are true, then let them do the talking for you."

Jin buries her face into a bouquet of the violet blooms and inhales. The calming scent slowly works their magic on her, and even the blind widow cannot help but beam as the young girl's face burst into a radiant smile.

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She stands outside of his room nervously. In her hand, she holds the purple flowers, and with the other, she pushes the door open quietly.

Jin peeks into the room timidly, and then lets out the breath she is holding.

Altair is fast asleep.

She stops, and debates within herself. Perhaps she should wait until he is awake. But then again, when will she have the courage to venture into this room again? Not with those golden eyes glaring at her like she is the plague.

Jin treads lightly into the room. She makes her way to the bedside and carefully replaces the wilted jasmine with the purple hyacinth.

She gives the sleeping man a cursory glance. He seems paler, and lighter than the last time she saw him. Jin bites her lip anxiously.

_I must find the antidote fast. _

She turns to leave and almost makes it through the door when a voice calls out, "The flowers smell really nice."

Caught off guard, she whips around to look at him. Altair has not moved from his position on the bed, but his eyes are open and watching her.

Her cheeks are burning red, she is horrified to discover. But still she does not move from her spot by the door. He does not say any more. But he does not need to.

He was the first to break the silence. It is as close to an apology from him she will ever receive.

She flashes him a small grateful smile, and then ducks her head as she walks out of the room.

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Her lilting voice and daily reports are a pleasant distraction, Altair decides one day. Between worrying about the state of things outside, and battling the internal war within his own body, he would have driven himself mad days ago.

But Jin's presence calms him almost as soon as she walks into the room.

More often than not, she carries with her a new cluster of flowers. This time, white orange blossoms that gives off a sweet, innocent fragrance.

"Where and when did you learn to speak English?" she asks him unexpectedly one day.

"It is part of our training. We need to know many dialects and languages as we travel to many foreign lands. Why do you ask?"

"I… I recognize it. It is the language my parents spoke and taught me. But I do not remember much. That was the first time I heard another speak the tongue."

Altair reflects on her words for a few seconds, and then asks, "Seems like your parents were here either as ambassadors or traveling doctors. It is most likely you are of European descent, and you might have kinsmen back-"

"No, I do not have a family," Jin cuts him off tightly. His eyes travel over her face, and she tries her best to hide the rising emotions.

"They are dead then," he confirms. She nods slowly.

"We were attacked. And before I knew what was going on… I ended up in one of Talal's warehouses." She does not mention how scared she was back then. How she would jump at the slightest noise, and how she would lie awake each night to the moans and sounds of suffering which still continually haunt her dreams.

"Do you remember your family name?" he asks. Jin shakes her head sadly.

But then her eyes light up, and her hand goes under her scarf and pulls out a gold chain. Hanging off of it is a tiny, gold locket.

"Our family crest is etched inside," Jin says as she opens the lid carefully. Altair leans forward and examines the fancy sigil carefully. When he is satisfied that he does not recognize it, he mentally stores the image of the symbol away in his mind for future reference.

"The necklace and the book are the only things I have left from my parents. They are very dear to me." As she speaks, her green eyes turn misty with sadness, and he regrets ever questioning her motives for running into the burning brothel.

"I am the same." Altair looks just as surprised as Jin at his own admittance, but he continues, "I became an orphan at an early age. I have some faint recollections of my mother, but they sent me away to be taken under Al Mualim when I was very young. It has always been the way of the Creed. And when they passed, they were no more than strangers to me."

Jin does not say anything. Sympathy shines from her compassionate face but she knows he will not appreciate any words of comfort. He has pride after all.

She takes his pulse, checks his temperature and goes through the daily routine. She gives him a few pills to help him sleep, and promptly goes back to her room.

Altair watchers her leave grimly. The girl either spends all her time on mixing an antidote, or nursing him back to health. He notes her slow deterioration wordlessly. Bags are beginning to form under her eyes, and her small frame is agonizingly malnourished.

He once commented on it, but she just brushed him off. He inquired the Rafiq about her health, who just helplessly shrugged. Obviously, nobody can control the girl.

Which is expected. Altair is one to know firsthand how difficult Jin can be when she is determined. How her emerald eyes will flash dangerously and her chin tilts up in defiance. No words will get through to her, and if he were healthy, then he resort to use force.

But he cannot do anything in this state. And so he stays quiet, and wills his body to recover faster.

For both of their sakes.

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The ex-assassin known as Malik Al-Sayf pours over the letter carefully.

The new Rafiq has sent him word of the latest events at Jerusalem. King Richard's army is retreating, Saladin's troops are making plans to leave for Damascus, and Altair is hopelessly bedridden with an illness.

Malik is not one to curse, but after reading that letter he cannot help but mutter some choice expletives.

He takes up his feathered pen, and jots down a few, terse sentences as a reply. He rolls up the note and places inside a small cylinder attached to a messenger bird. Malik sends the bird through an open window, and with it, a simple prayer that it will get to its destination on time.

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The latest antidote does not work. In fact, it seems to be making him worse. She takes in the sight of him retching up with despair.

Another attempt, another failure.

She has made sure that the poison cannot be cured with simple remedies. There needs to be a specific antidote that will directly target the poison lodged in the bloodstream. King Richard's physicians should be scrambling to find a cure. They must be in order for the plan to succeed.

And unfortunately, so is she.

Between caring for Altair and trying out different cures, this has been the third day in a row that she has went without sleep. Her eyes are swollen and begging for rest.

Altair seems to be about finished. She moves the bucket out of the way and uses a damp towel to wipe his face. The girl murmurs soft apologies as she gives him water to cleanse out his mouth.

He does not reply, and tiredly closes his eyes. After making sure he is situated and as comfortable as she can make him, Jin begins to head back to her room for another attempt.

A pull at her wrist stops her. She turns her head around.

"Stay," he commands.

She opens her mouth to decline, but then sees the unspoken request in his eyes. His vulnerability, and that plaintive expression tugs at something in her chest. Makes her breath catch and her heart stop.

She remembers an incident from a long time ago. She was called upon by a woman to cure her son, who was struggling through a illness. The woman has brought her in too late, and there was nothing at that point Jin could do to save the child. As she spent the last minutes in the room with the family, the boy was clinging onto his mother, pleading at her with his eyes to not leave him and let the disease consume him.

The exact same way Altair is looking at her now.

Jin lets him pull her down into the modest bed. She sits on the edge, as there is barely any room for her since the man takes up most of the cot.

He does not let go of her hand, and instead shifts his so that their fingers lace through each other's. His eyes are still closed, and the only sound he makes are labored breathing.

"Stay," he murmurs once again. This time softer, gentler.

"I need to find the remedy," Jin whispers back, and she half-heartedly pulls at their joined hands. His grip tightens, and she decides she does not really want to go.

Her exhaustion chooses that time to catch up to her. Altair chuckles as she lets out the largest yawn.

"You are wearing yourself out," he reproaches lightly as he deliberately moves to make room for her, "Rest. It will not help either of us if you work yourself to an early death."

He can tell she is about to give in. She does not even have the energy to argue. Altair tugs at her insistently, and she eventually obliges.

Too tired to care much for propriety, Jin lays down on the mattress. Since Altair is taking up most of the bed, she finds herself half lying on top of him too. She asks him if he is uncomfortable, and in reply he brings his arm, the one still holding her hand, around and hooks her body closer to his.

Sleep is already taking its claim on her, so she does not protest. His arm settles around her waist and rests securely on her stomach. She can feel him. A solid, warm body holding her and it strangely comforts her. Listening to his reassuring heartbeat, Jin finally closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.

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The blood-red sun draws a canvas of burgundy, violets, and searing crimson across the sky. Black murders of crows caw out loudly from their perch on the rooftops of Acre.

Loud cries of pain disturb them, and with angry flaps of dark wings, they fly away from one particular grey building.

The woman is panting heavily. Sweat drips down her forehead and her hair plasters her face. She screams out again as another wave of pain rocks into her. Her voice is hoarse from hours of agony, and with one final pull of a deft midwife's hand, another cry accompanies her: a young, high-pitched wail of a babe.

The portly midwife wraps the newborn in a clean blanket, and hands him to his exhausted mother.

"Heavenly Father has blessed you with a boy, Madam," she murmurs. What she does not tell the new mother is that terrible omens that have accompanied this difficult birth. The constant river of red which poured out between the woman legs foretells a bloody future for the child. The babe is born with the coming of black crows, which can be a audacious sign but since the birth is accompanied with a red sunset, he will most definitely bring death to those around him. And the angry splotch of a birthmark on the babe's neck that is shaped like cobra… the midwife sends a quick prayer for her own soul for delivering such a demon child.

The woman, breathing heavily, stares down curiously at the wrinkled little face. She still cannot believe she has just brought a new life into this world. His child.

"What shall you name him?"

The new mother looks out the window and her watering eyes harden into steel.

"After his father. His name shall be Robert."

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"I really cannot understand this," Jin grumbles, but mostly to herself, because the men in front of her is definitely paying her no mind.

Altair, dressed in his assassin garb, does not even pause in the middle of his sword stance. He casually blocks at his right, and then smoothly redirects his opponent's blade. The Brother who he is sparring with him comes at him again, and once again in the last possible moment, Altair blocks with his small blade.

The girl cannot believe this is the same man who was lying helpless in bed three days ago. Right after that last incident in which he threw up the medicine, Altair declares his head clearer and begins to walk about. Seems like that was one way to get rid of the poison faster. That, or maybe the toxin has already run its course. Whatever the real reason is, by the second day, the assassin has picked up his sword and begins to rigorously train.

She has argued, yelled, and begged at him to stop pushing himself, but like the stubborn fool he is, he has ignored them.

Jin follows him almost constantly, telling herself that he will collapse any moment and she will need to keep an eye on him.

No such luck though, as Altair finally decides to end the training session by disarming his sparring partner.

The defeated Brother looks on half in awe and half in embarrassment as Altair points his blade at his exposed throat. He mutters a quick word of pardon, and immediately takes his leave.

"You should be grateful your patient is making such a quick recovery," Altair lightly comments as he turns and gazes at the setting Jerusalem sun. Jin stands up from her seat on the edge of the roof and walks towards him. She follows his gaze, and is amazed by the wonderful colors of the sky tinting the rooftops in shades of coral, vermilion and gold.

She sighs. "Not if the patient is taking so much chances with his health. You think yourself some kind of god with the way you go about."

"Perhaps, but I very much prefer living mortal."

Jin cannot help but smirk at his comment. She turns to look at him, and notes with surprise that he is much closer than a moment ago. She did not even hear him move.

A arm wraps itself around her small waist, and she finds herself at the mercy of the tawny gaze of a hunter.

He is so close that she can see the tiny beads of perspiration on his face and rose-colored sunset is casting fascinating shadows across the striking angles of his face.

Jin takes a deep breath to settle herself and immediately regrets it. The musky smell of his male scent, more evident because he is lightly sweating, enters her nose and coherency suddenly disappears. He is everywhere she looks. There is no escape from this.

And she knows, that a shameful part of her does not even entertain the thought of leaving.

His eagle-like eyes follow her every movement so intently. Nothing escapes his notice. The little gulp that glides down her throat. Her quickening pulse and uneven breathing. The worst being her mouth, as when she nervously bites down on her lip, his gaze immediately rivets on the minuscule motion.

"Consider this my appreciation for your care while I was ill," Altair murmurs huskily as his head dips down to her level. Jin closes her eyes, both in apprehension and anticipation.

A loud cough erupts behind her. She shoves off of Altair and turns around.

A very disgruntled Rafiq is staring pointedly into the distance. He hands Altair a tiny, metal cylinder and whispers something that sounds like: "Message from air. Highest priority." The older man cannot leave the rooftop fast enough.

Altair extracts a rolled up slip of paper from the container. He briskly scans the words on the message, and his expression immediately darkens.

In reply to her curious look, he offers the paper to her. Jin takes it gingerly and with apprehension. She reads the note. Only two sentences are written in a neat, brusque handwriting.

_The eagle flies north to roost. Dark shadows hide its eggs as the fourth moon rises to the sky._

"I do not understand," Jin mutters. It is obviously in code but the meaning escapes her.

"It means we must make haste to Masyaf. Danger threatens the safety of the Brotherhood and Malik is requesting my immediate presence. Gather your things, we shall leave at nightfall."

* * *

Notes: TGIF YOU GUYS! Gad long week.

Ok... let me just go puke from the fluffiness that just came out of my fingertips. I mean... really? Snuggling in bed? Gad what were they/am I thinking!

I guess... this isn't drabble format. And... I guess... a new arc is starting. lol Things never work out as I plan. I don't know where this part is going anyways. I just kind of want to skip to the gruesome end and be done! (Lol did I say gruesome? I mean... happy. I jus LUUUUVVVV happy endings. NOT)

Kudos to who ever can correctly guess the woman in the last scene. Although it's pretty obvious. I kind of want to put story on hold and wait until Bloodlines come out so I can stay true to storyline... but that will be forever. Can't do that to the readers. :D

Letsee.. explanation for the note Malik wrote, b/c I just can't imagine Altair patiently explaining it to Jin. Eagle stands for Altair, obviously, roost means Masyaf. Dark shadows mean danger and the eggs are things Altair want to protect, be it the Piece of Eden or just the fortress overall take your pick. Fourth moon suggests that he should leave as soon as possible and in the safety of darkness.

Here are flower meanings for fun. They do differ from site to site though.

Yellow jasmine - modesty, timidity

Purple hyacinth - sorrowful, forgiveness

Orange blossoms - innocence, internal love.


	9. Chapter 9

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Chapter 9

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They have been riding nonstop, with a few breaks for sleep and food. Jin can feel her legs and back aching but is too stubborn to complain. That and the urgency in Altair's face tells her to keep quiet.

_She never rode a horse before, and the closest she has been to one was in passing with the merchants' mule. When Altair led her to the stables and walked over to his horse, Jin gaped. _

_Tossing his mane with wild abandon, there stood the biggest stallion she has laid eyes on. His coat is pure silver, and his eyes are the blackest of storm clouds. He pounded his foot impatiently, as if sensing his imminent freedom, and the ground shook. _

"_Meet Nasim," Altair introduces her as he strapped standard equipment on the huge horse, "He is one of swiftest horses from our stables, however, he is also one of the wildest. So I suggest you learn how to ride fast." Altair worked briskly, and efficiently. When he was done, he turned towards her and gestured her over. _

"_What do you mean-" He gave her no time to ask any questions as he effortlessly lifted her on to the saddle. He then pulls himself up by the stirrups and settled in behind her. _

_His arms went around her to grasp the reins, and he instructed her to hold onto the pommel with both hands and let her body meld with the horse. _

_He urged Nasim into a walk. She felt very unsteady on the saddle. Lurching forward, Jin held onto the front of the saddle until her knuckles turned white. _

"_Relax," Altair murmured right in her ear and all of a sudden she was conscious of how close their bodies were, "and move with the gait."_

"_What if I fall off?" _

"_I will not let that happen," he promised. _

And so far, he has stayed true to the promise. Jin cannot help but blush at the way his hands tightened around her hips whenever she was in the danger of falling. That was the first time Nasim tried galloping. The speed was so unexpected and frightening that she almost did slip off.

The hapless girl does not know how she managed to stay alive the last couple of days, but obviously it will not be much longer before she drops dead from exhaustion. Which is an embarrassment, because Nasim seems more energetic than she is and he has been carrying two passengers this whole time.

Altair is as taciturn as ever. His face is set in a grim expression that looks to be carved in stone. Her few attempts at conversation was drowned out by the heavy pounding of hoof-beats and her words were snatched away by the whipping wind.

The sun seems to be setting as they reached the summit of a rocky mountain. Altair briskly dismounts, and proclaims their camp for the night. Jin is assigned to unpacking and preparing the rations whilst Altair left to find a source of water for themselves and to cool down Nasim.

She barely has a few moments for herself when he returns suddenly. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Come look at this."

Jin stands up unsteadily and follows him. He treks through some thick underbrush, which soon melts into sparse tree trunks. Climbing through branches and uneven ground with extreme difficulty, Jin is about to voice her complaints when the ground suddenly clears and turns flat.

Altair is there, standing upon a precarious cliff side. She joins him cautiously and follows his gaze.

"That is…" Words are escaping her. The sight before her is completely breath-taking.

"Yes, that is Masyaf," Altair confirms.

The setting sun paints a stunning canvas of corals, goldenrod and grays. A lone fortress, with impressive turrets and imposing walls stands tall and proud amongst the sparse landscape. Despite being constructed with men's hands, the fortress of Masyaf looks as if it belongs within nature's scenery. Nestled safely within rocky hills and treacherous cliffs, it calls out to the travelers like a beacon. The majestic beauty of it all is going beyond what word can describe.

"It's… beautiful," she exhales. Jin turns to look at him. By the look on his features, she can tell that he feels the same. He is also in awe at the sight. This is his home, where the assassin, but also the man known as Altair, grew up.

"We are a day's ride from our destination. I suggest you get some rest for tomorrow we will be riding nonstop."

She nods, half listening. Her eyes are still looking out on the horizon.

"Is this where I am to stay from now on?"

"Yes," Altair looks as if he wants to say more but no more words left his mouth.

"I understand," she murmurs. He does not know what to do with her either. It seems such a given that she will be accompanying him for the trip, but afterwards, what other use does he have for her? What is she, to him?

"You are troubled."

The corners of her mouth quirks up a little. "Oh, how well you read me, Master Assassin."

"If that is the case, I would know the reason for your anxiety," he replies evenly. He turns to her, and she is suddenly aware of the dangerous situation. The two of them traveling through wilderness. Alone. With no one in sight.

His hand goes up to tuck away a stray strand of hair. Lingers a bit on her temple, and ruefully returns to his side. Jin lets out the breath she does not even know she was holding.

"Remember, your life belongs to me. I will not allow harm to befall you at Masyaf. It is the safest place at this moment. However, if Malik's message is not exaggerated, that might change in the near future." His voice is low, and tinged with sincerity.

Jin wants to believe him. Even though he is a master of deception and murder. She wants to trust in the man hidden within those white robes of death.

"I trust you," she says simply. His face softens at her words, and no more words pass between them. Silently, they watch the sun set over the fortress of Masyaf, where an uncertain future awaits them.

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As they ride underneath the stone fortress's main gate, Jin cranes her neck up in wonder. The sheer size of the stone walls is amazing, and she cannot begin to fathom how human hands are able to construct such a formidable structure.

With its walls, there lies a vast open courtyard. Sharp clangs of sword on sword can be heard from a sparring ring. Almost everyone present bears the robes of assassins, and then Jin realizes that countless number of eyes are on her. She feels the strength of their stares, and cannot help but shrink from them.

"Do not mind them. You have just as good a reason as them to be here," Altair quietly whispers in her ear. She straightens up almost immediately.

A lazy smile emerges from under the hood. "Better."

"Master Altair, you have returned to us!" exclaims a Brother who detaches himself from the group to approach the riders. He looks younger by at least five years, and Jin can see the beaming adoration shining from the youth's eyes.

"Greetings, my friend," Altair answers as he smoothly dismounts. Without delay, he turns to help Jin down, and then turns to address the younger man, "Please take care of Nasim. He has been working hard these couple of days." The young man nods eagerly, and takes the reins from Altair.

"Do you always order people as if you expect them to do your bidding?" Jin demands when they are out of earshot. They are climbing up to the main building overlooking the courtyard.

"No, but you have yet to learn the laws of this place. It is customary for younger apprentices to heed the orders of elders. And since he offered, I gladly accepted."

Jin opens her mouth to argue, but then decides against it. Once again, she is in a strange, new environment, and the fastest way to familiarize herself is to stay quiet and just observe.

She already knew he must be of a high rank. The respectful way in which the past Rafiqs and Brothers address him can attest to that.

_And the fact that he killed the last Master of the Creed… does that make him the current Master? _Jin wonders to herself.

Altair briskly strides through the double doors, and makes his way through a maze of bookshelves. Jin wants to stop and read some of the titles, but in order not to lose her sole guide, she follows him dutifully. After climbing a series of stairs, they come across a platform where a man and a massive desk awaits them.

"Altair, you return not a moment too soon," drawls out the man behind the desk covered in various scrolls and paper. He stands, and greets Altair by warmly clasping his shoulder with one hand.

Jin studies him wordlessly, and her gaze is drawn to the loose sleeve hanging on his side.

He has no left arm. She then directs her scrutiny to his face, where harsh lines define a striking face. Thick, dark brows above deeply set eyes the color of ink. A hook nose with a mouth that is as thin and sharp like a blade. Angular cheekbones define his face, and she can tell already that he is an unforgiving man.

"Malik, you must have received the message from Jerusalem's Rafiq," Altair responds.

"Yes, but who else can with deal this? I have urgent news from intelligence and it regards the Piece of- Who is this?"

Sharp eyes direct their gaze at her. Jin feels exposed as both assassins turn to regard her.

"I am-"

"A dear friend," Altair smoothly interjects, "Jinan has been a valuable ally in the efforts at Jerusalem. She is-"

"A woman." Malik deadpans. He turns to direct his next words to Altair, completely ignoring Jin's presence.

"I am sincerely glad you finally stopped ignoring the opposite sex, but this is not the suitable time to be playing around. While you were enjoying yourself in Jerusalem, trouble is stirring."

"Malik, you misunderstand," Altair's voice has a new edge to it, but Malik seems unperturbed. It appears as if he is familiar with Altair, at least, enough to know exactly where the line is drawn. Jin feels a stab of envy for the man.

"Perhaps, then you may correct me later. Right now, there are more important matters to attend to." He gestures to a nearby Brother, who steps forward immediately. "Please take her to the Garden. Tell Lady-"

"Actually, I am certain Jinan is tired. She can rest in my quarters without having to deal with formal introductions." Altair shoots Malik a look. "There is no reason for her to be a woman of that affiliation."

The hesitant Brother glances uncertainly between the two men. On one hand, Altair is the Master of the Creed, but in his absence, the Brotherhood has been taking orders from Malik alone.

The tension is tangible, but finally, at an affirming nod from Malik, he ushers Jin out of the office. He leads her through a complex series of hallways and eventually comes to a stop at a stairway.

"Just go up and it will be the sole room in front." He leaves as silently as the wind.

Jin looks up the spiral stairs, and sighs. Leave it up to Altair to have the room on the highest tower. After a gruesome climb, she finally reaches the door. She opens it, and steps cautiously into the room.

Jin takes in the sparsely furnished room with surprise. It is small, about the same size of her attic when she was living in the brothel. There is a single bed, with two windows on opposite sides of the room. Persian rugs cover the hard stone tiles, and a low table sits in the center of the room, but there are no other forms of decorations.

Hardly fitting for a person with such high status as Altair.

She comes to the conclusion that this room is only one of many rooms at Altair's disposal, and that he actually rarely sleeps in this one. The room does not have traces of being lived in.

Jin smiles. How convenient for both of them. And how considerate of him to give her this room. It is isolated from people to avoid questions and gives her the peace and quiet she needs for her work.

She lays her knapsack of supplies on the floor. Sinks into the soft bedding, and falls fast asleep.

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It must have been late in the evening when she awakes. The soft orange glow of candlelight warms her face, and her green eyes flutter open. The entire room is dark except for the silvery moonlight from the windows and the lone candle at the table.

Altair is sitting on a rug, nursing a drink. His usual weapons are set aside, and all he seems to be wearing simple kameez with trousers. His face is hidden in the shadows, so she cannot tell exactly what he is thinking.

"How long have you been here?" she asks hesitantly.

"Not that long. Have some food." He gestures to the items laid out on the table. "Although I did not expect you to be familiarizing with my bed so quickly."

Jin blushes, and mutters a half-hearted apology. She slides out of bed, and sits down across from him at the table. She does not realize how famished she was until she eats the first piece of food. As her stomach grumbles in appreciation, she wolfs down the rest, not caring for manners.

"This cannot be your room," she says after the last piece of bread is chewed and swallowed.

An amused eyebrow quirks up at her comment. "Oh? And why not?"

"It is unfitting for someone of your station. I do not know exactly how important you are, but a person with a high rank should have a more comfortable, and spacious bedroom."

"A flattering deduction. And you are partially correct. I am assigned another room, but this is where I frequently sleep. The location is ideal for a person like me."

Jin regards him with sympathy.

"You want to be closer to the sky."

A low chuckle in reply to her words. She can barely make out the sinful curve of his mouth in the darkness.

"What makes you utter such nonsense?" he reproaches her gently. Jin tilts her chin up challengingly.

"Because all birds long for the freedom of the skies. And you, Altair, is no exception."

Altair sighs tiredly. He sets his half-empty cup down on the table.

"Freedom. A word trying to pin down the elusive idea. Tell me, Jin, what do you suppose freedom is?"

She stops and thinks for a moment. With a thoughtful light in her eyes, Jin replies, "I suppose it is what you want it to be. For a person who is locked up all his life, freedom can be as little as a few minutes outside. For a person who is always outside, freedom can come inside, as he finds peace within himself."

Hard silence greets her words. Jin tilts her head in question.

"Well, you asked for my thoughts, why are you asking such questions for?" she prods.

"Freedom is none of those things. At least, not for me," he wearily replies. "In all my years, never have I questioned the meaning behind my existence as I do now. What is my purpose? If I dedicate my entire being to bringing peace to mankind, where is the freedom in that?"

Jin looks at him with sympathy. She has no answer for that. He is a man bound by duty. This is his way of life, and anything else will be untruthful to his identity.

She shifts over to his side. Slowly reaches for his left hand, and pulls his palm to the light. With a delicate finger, Jin traces the contours of his hand.

"This line here, it represents your life. The straightness indicate your cautious but determined nature. The line is strong, which suggest a strong vitality."

Jin does not tell him about the disturbingly shortness of the line, which means a correspondingly short life span.

"And this one," she moves to gingerly trace the line cutting vertically down the pads of his hands, "is your line of Fate. The fact it touches your life line and then branches off means that your life is not yours to control, at least, not for a while."

Altair scoffs. "I did not think you were one to believe in cheap street tricks."

"I do not. Do you? Do you believe that your life is not your own? That destiny is already pre-written?"

Green emerald challenges him. Understanding flashes for an instant on his features, and then his face relaxes.

"I see. So this is your answer, and a wise one it is. You never fail to surprise me, Jin."

Jin looks at him, and smiles.

"So there is one line left. Tell me, Wise Overseer, which secrets does that one hold?"

Jin glances down, and immediately blushes. Reluctantly, she answers "That is your heart line, and represents your love life. Yours extend well beyond the index finger and cuts straight across."

Here she pauses. Seeing her hesitation, Altair prods, "And?"

"It means you have a strong control over your emotions, but your affections are deep and true. The fainter line above it suggests that there will be protection from your lover."

"How intriguing. Now that my personal life is laid out in the open, why is it you who is blushing?" Altair slyly asks.

Jin does not lift her eyes from their hands. Can not let him see the emotions fluttering across her face.

"Why are you here?" She finally ventures.

He smirks at her. "This is my room after all." The hand she is holding turns to grasp her knuckles. The rough pads of his thumb begins to stroke the inside of her wrist, and she is shocked at how fast he can set her nerves on fire.

"Surely you are not thinking-" She cannot even finish her sentence. Jin's face flushes as she struggles for words.

"Be at peace," he orders, and he brings her knuckles up to his face, where a soft brush of his lips leaves a searing mark on her skin, "Contrary to what you might believe, I do not force women into my bed. I am here because this is where I like to sleep."

He playful grins at her. "Of course, if you were to make another suggestion…" He trails off suggestively.

Jin forces herself to shake off his mesmerizing gaze. She pulls back her hand and mutters, "We are both exhausted from traveling. Sleep is a good idea."

Altair's grin does not falter an inch. "A prudent decision. I shall rest here on the floor. Go take the bed, before I change my mind."

Jin does not need another warning. She can tell when the situation is escalating, and she is not sure if she wants a repeat of that shameful episode in Jerusalem.

Not daring to undress with him in the room, she buries herself beneath the sheets. She turns on her side, with her back facing him, and forces herself to sleep.

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The rays of dawn hardly reaches through the window when she wakes up. She is not sure what exactly woke her, but she is suddenly wide awake and alert. She sits up, and turn to the other inhabitant of the room.

Altair, dressed in his assassin garbs, is fastening his daggers and gauntlets. The brisk, practiced way he moves is entrancing, and she does not realize how much she is staring until he stops and looks her way.

"This is where we part ways again. Templars have been amassing at the island of Cyprus. No doubt they are regrouping and planning an attack on the Brotherhood. I will go and investigate the matter, and if possible, prevent their plan from taking place."

Her throat tightens unconsciously. There has been suggestions of this happening from the moment they arrived at Maysaf, but to hear it in its finality still stings.

"How long will you be gone?" Her voice sounds a bit huskier than usual, and she blames it on the night of restless sleep.

"Depends," he replies enigmatically, "on how well my mission goes. I left Malik specific instructions in regards about your work and how he can accommodate you. Do not hesitate to ask him for anything. He is a loyal friend and a kind man."

Jin snorts. "He acts as if I do not exist."

A bemused expression appears on Altair's face.

"I regret not being present for those precious moments, but I really do need to make haste."

He finishes assembling his equipment, and strides towards the open window.

"Wait."

Jin moves without thinking. In a split second, she is taking a hold of his sleeve, and pulls him down for a kiss.

As she pulls away, she fiercely whispers, "Come back. I shall be waiting. You are responsible for me, for this life you liberated from death, and so you need to come back."

Mild surprise is written over his face, but he recovers swiftly. His hand entangle itself in her blonde hair as he pulls her in for another kiss. This one longer, and more heart-wrenching than her chaste one. Jin responds fervently. She cannot bear the idea that this might be the last time.

Altair rips himself away, and mutter curses into the soft skin of her neck.

"Any more of this and I will not be able to leave," he holds her face steady as he gazes into forest green, "Hellfire and damnation will not keep me away. So stay safe."

After exchanging their farewells, he pulls himself over the ledge of the window, drops down to a protruding wooden beam, and as Jin watches with awe, takes flight into the cloudless sky.

* * *

Notes: Wow... just wow. It's been a month since I updated, sorry!

I'm not going to go into details about the missions in Cyprus. I'll be waiting for Bloodlines to come out to fill in some holes... so I'll most likely time-skip to when he comes back. Although there might be the slight possibility that the game will come out before I update again. School's really hectic lately and I haven't even had the energy/ motivation to write. T_T

Uh... hahaha so I really like Callalii's _Seduction Stud_y and how the Garden is another branch of the Brotherhood. I kind of incorporated that in the story b/c I can't see it any other way.

Malik, man you just gotta love this guy. Sarcastic, prickly, and stern. Looking forward to writing him and Jin's interactions... snickers.

Next chapter: Jin stirring up trouble, angsting over exactly what she is to Altair, and perhaps a love-triangle. (O gad, now I know I'm sleep deprived).


	10. Chapter 10

Spoilers: Certain plots for Bloodlines. Go watch/play it first!

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Chapter 10

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_The calming trickle of water from a fountain sets a tranquil ambiance within the Garden. Vibrant wildflowers dot the lush, green grass and is accentuated by the white splendor of marble columns. _

_This is where the final battle against Al Mualim had taken place. Where he had __violently __taken his Master's life._

_Altair takes deep breath. Malik paces in front of him, his footsteps falling on stone tiles. _

"_Let me get to the point. The death of Robert De Sable is like the pebble that set off ripples. Templars are withdrawing and regrouping at the island of Cyprus. Our intelligence is stationed there, but we have limited information on their activities."_

_Altair finishes his thought for him, "There is a chance that they are planning a counterattack against Maysaf. That is why you called me back so urgently."_

_The older man nods. "There are also rumors that the Templars have found themselves another Piece of Eden. It is good idea for you to investigate further on this, and the place to start would be Acre, in the Templar's hold." _

"_When will you have me leave?" Altair's words are brisk, impersonal. Things are better this way. His mission laying in front of him, clear and direct. _

_Malik casts him a sideways glance. "You do not wish to spend more time to…rest?"_

_A smirk appears from underneath the white hood. _

"_If you are referring to the girl, you are sadly mistaken about the nature of our relationship. She is my responsibility, and I do not wish harm upon her. Or do I wish to see her as one of the 'maidens' of the Garden. You know of my views in regards to that establishment," Altair shoots Malik with a pointed look. _

_Malik shrugs it off effortlessly. Like water off a duck's back. _

"_Very well. What will you have me do with her?"_

"_Nothing. Just keep an eye on her and make sure she does not get into too much trouble. Jin is a medicine-maker, so she is able to help at the infirmary. She will not get in the way."_

_The older Dai regards his superior carefully. It does not escape his notice that Altair's face changes when he talks of her, or the way he casually tosses in her name without a second thought. _

_A thin line of contemplation appears on Malik's mouth. He knows many who were lead astray by a woman. They became careless, distracted, and lost sight of the Creed. Many had fallen to the sins of temptation, and he cannot believe the same will befall on his friend._

_So he says nothing. Altair is not a foolish man. And he will not a let a waif of a girl dull his blade. _

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"Master Malik has requested your presence at the dining halls. Dinner will be served once you are present," the young apprentice relays the message to her, and promptly leaves.

Jin is dumbfounded. It has only been two days since Altair's departure, and already the antagonistic man wants something to do with her?

The girl swallows her nervousness, and makes her way to the dinning halls. As she enters, she notices that the spacious room is dimly lit, with sparse amounts of candlelight scattered within.

Malik is seated at the head, and when she approaches, he gestures for her to take the seat at the end of the table. If there were other seats present, she would have debated sitting in those to purposely disobey his orders.

She sits. Stares at the man across from her. He is dressed from head to toe in somber black, as if he exists to define the color.

"I must apologize for my rudeness in our first meeting. Allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Malik Al Sayaf. I am a loyal servant to the Creed and I act as the leader of this organization in Altair's absence," he says, and then waits expectantly.

Jin bits down on her lip. She does not know how much Altair has told him, but more importantly, what he has not. There is not much she can say in the form of introduction anyways. No family history, no valid reasons of why she is here.

"People call me Jinan. I am here because I have forsaken my home and the people who I once lived with. I had nowhere to go for safety, that is, until I met Altair. Which is why I am here."

A dark eyebrow quirks up in interest.

"How did you meet Altair?"

"He fell into my room, unconscious and bleeding, and I tended his wounds."

The eyebrow rises up further.

"He fell?"

"Yes. From the roof."

"A stranger, armed and dangerous, intrudes into your chambers, and yet your first thought was not to alert the authorities?" His caustic, scolding tone grates on her nerves. Jin grits her teeth.

"No, because I know my mistress would not appreciate that sort of attention to the brothel."

A credulous expression comes across his sharp features. "You lived in a brothel!"

Jin bites down on her tongue. What a slip. "Yes," she replies warily.

Malik's eyes are clawing over her entire body as if she bears a disease. Jin wants to add more, but it seems like the damage is done. Thankfully, the servant chooses that moment to serve food, providing a much needed distraction.

Before she can make the first bite though, a comment slices through the taut air.

"I am disappointed at him once again. To think, compromising the Brotherhood over a mere prostitute."

The fork she is holding clatters to the plate. Jin shoots up, upsetting the chair and almost toppling it.

"Do not," she hisses angrily, "assume things about me. Just because I lived in a brothel does not mean I am a prostitute. And I am not involved with Altair in the manner in which you are suggesting. I have never been treated as inhospitably as these past few days. Not even given a chance to catch my breath and already you are interrogating me as if I am some sort of criminal!"

She is beyond caring for manners. Indignant rage colors her face, while Malik looks on, bemused.

"Then what exactly is the nature of your relationship with Altair?"

His words knocks the wind out of her lungs. Jin stares back Malik, stunned and speechless. She has no answer for that question, and for him to even have the audacity to ask such a question-

Making a frustrated huff, she spins and stalks out of the halls. Behind her, a treble of dark laughter rises out of the man, and she shuts her eyes in exasperation.

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Once again, he finds himself crossing swords with her. Icy blue eyes flashing, her sword clanging a warning of death, and mouth set in a grim scowl.

Maria of the Templars.

"Well what a surprise. The man who spared my neck, but has taken my life," snarls the dark-haired woman as she charges at him.

Altair dodges one of her strikes easily. He sidesteps, and delivers a blow with his hand to her midsection.

Maria stumbles a tiny step. He scrutinizes her carefully. She seems to have lost weight. Her strokes are not quite as clean as before.

As she lunges at him again, he disarms her quickly and forces her to the ground, hidden blade pressed against her throat.

"Returned to finish me off?" she taunts mockingly.

Altair replies, "Not just yet. I want information. Why are the Templars sailing for Cyprus?"

A smirk appears on her face. It infuriates him, and yet at the same time, pleases him to see that she is not scared even in the face of death.

"It has been a long, dirty war, Assassin. Everyone deserves some time for recreation."

Altair leans in closer, impatience emanating from his body. "The more you tell me, the longer you live. So I shall ask again," his voice drops to a dangerous whisper, "Why the retreat to Cyprus?"

"What retreat? King Richard has brokered a truce with Saladin, and your order is leaderless is it not? Once we recover the Piece of Eden, you shall be the one running," retorts Maria.

Altair sighs. Arguing with women is not his strong point. Not only does it feel like ramming into a wall, he cannot follow their sense of logic.

"I will save my breath. The Piece of Eden is well hidden," he answers as he rises to his feet. Maria sits up warily.

"Altair," she addresses him cautiously, "Weigh your options carefully. The Templars are willing to pay you a great price for that relic."

Altair regards her, and for a split second sorrow passes through his features.

"They already have, have they not?"

Immediately, Maria's eyes closes with grief. Robert De Sable's death has the greatest impact on her. Not only did she lost her lover, her position and credibility within the ranks has rapidly fallen. The current Grand Master of the order disapproves of a woman among the ranks, and he has taken actions to strip her of her privileges. He ordered her to stay at Acre and supervise the stronghold: another menial, meaningless task which she failed ultimately because of the infuriating man in front of her.

Numb, Maria does not protest when he binds her hands together, and rids her of her weapons. She does not speak as she is taken prisoner and roughly pushed inside the cargo space of a ship.

She can only pray, and hope, that he does not find the baby.

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_Why was I unable to answer that question?_

Jin's head is swimming with confusion. She makes her way through the sparse undergrowth slowly. Dawn's faint rays has hardly illuminated the rocky terrain around Masyaf, and she needs to be careful as she makes her way down to the creek.

A kind elder at the infirmary has informed her of the location in which he collects his medicinal herbs, and she eagerly sought out the place. Although the woodlands is not dense, it is nevertheless similar to walking into a treasure trove. Damascus' hot and searing climate, as well as Jerusalem sandy dessert terrain does not even hold a candle to the diverse amount of foliage she finds now.

_Friends? Companions? He saved my life many times but what does that mean? What exactly am I to him? … Lovers? But we have not -_

"Who goes there?"

A dagger slices through the air, just inches before her face, and digs painfully into the tree trunk behind her.

Jin yelps in surprise. She loses her footing on a moss-covered rock, and tumbles down the slope.

"…uh." She groans in pain. Jin carefully feels herself, making sure that none of her bones are broken.

The voice addresses her again. "What a dignified entrance. What pressing matter urges you seek an audience with me at this hour?"

Jin recognizes the harsh tone, looks up, and immediately regrets it.

Malik is standing in knee-high water, naked to the waist, and glaring at her intrusion.

"I-I was gathering herbs. For my m-medicine. Because I need more. To make the medicine," she fumbles embarrassedly as she averts her gaze else where.

A dark, caustic scoff. One that makes the hair on her back stand on end.

"Then you will not mind allowing me some privacy whilst I bathe."

She scowls at him. "By all means. I will take my leave." She quickly stands up, but a dull ache in her left ankle unbalances her. The girl gasps out in pain as she crumples to the ground once more.

"You injured yourself." His voice is neutral, stating a fact that is plain and obvious.

_More like you injured me. If you had not thrown that dagger at my face… _

But Jin chooses not to reply. Instead, she braces herself up on her knees, and slowly this time, stands up with her weight on her right foot. She limps toward her fallen basket, and begins to tediously collect its spilled contents.

"You cannot possibly be thinking of walking back in that condition."

Jin whips around to face him, and he almost chuckles at the sight of her closed eyes. Her sense modesty is quite ironic.

"Well what other choice do I have? It is not like anyone will come and fetch me," she retorts crossly.

"Once I finish, I shall offer you my assistance," Malik says carefully.

Jin's eyes open in surprise. She scans his face for any sign of sarcasm or deceit, but finds none. He is not lying. But then her eyes drift down to his torso, in which she inevitably begins staring at the stump below his left shoulder.

The skin is puckered and stretched to the end, in which a rounded stub is all the remains of an arm. She can tell the wound was cauterized, and the surrounding flesh is heavily scarred.

"You wonder how I lost my arm."

His voice is resigned, not full of sarcasm as it usually is. She does not answer. It is the truth, but she does not like to admit that he can read her so easily.

"This is the result of excessive pride. Pride consumed this man, clouded his judgment, and during a mission, he risked all of our lives because he overly confident of his abilities. For that, I have lost my brother and this arm."

Fascinated, her green eyes rises to meet with his. "Do you hate him? That man?"

Malik studies her carefully. It is obvious that she truthfully does not know. Her face is guileless and innocent like a spring flower. He closes his eyes tiredly.

"No. He has changed. No longer the foolish man that he was before. The man who was at fault for the death of my brother and for my arm is dead. Instead, I see him spreading his wings, and flying high above the strife of his past."

He lets his words sink in, noting how the realization sinks in her face. Her lips part in a slight gasp, whilst her eyelashes dance like butterflies against the wind. The way she is returning his gaze is quite unnerving. So unlike any other woman he has encountered.

Silence nestles peacefully between them. Jin settles on a flat rock while Malik washes himself methodically and then dons his usual black robes. He briskly strides over to where she is sitting, and bends slightly forward, offering his hand.

She takes it, and is immediately surprised at the ease in which he pulls her up. His grip on her forearm is like iron, and he nimbly slings her arm over his shoulder. After making sure she is secure, he straightens up, and the same arm slides around to support her under her right arm.

Malik's arm is supporting her quite comfortably, and he does not seem like he is exerting much energy. But the proximity in which their bodies are touching, it stirs something inside of her. She is pressed tightly to his side, so that he shoulders her weight as she leans on him, and can feel the flexing of his muscles in each step.

"T-this is, quite unsightly.." Jin mumbles in embarrassment as they trudge their way uphill. Truthfully, she has never been physically close to any male except for … Altair.

Her face immediately flushes at the memories.

Malik, who interprets the blush at face value, replies curtly, "Given my physical limitations, this is the only plausible way we can travel. Please bear with it."

Jin turns to answer, but then suddenly notices how close their faces are. His eyes, black onyx shining with intelligence, watches her carefully. She shuts her mouth, and quickly averts her gaze elsewhere.

The trek uphill is swallowed in tense silence. As the cumbersome pair make their slow, painful process through the woods, and Jin wonders if they will ever make it back to civilization.

Thankfully, they were intercepted halfway through by a passing scout making his rounds. Malik releases his hold on her, and Jin lets out the breath she has been unconsciously holding. The young, un-hooded man who looks to be in his late adolescence, gently lifts her on his back while uttering apologies.

Jin turns around to thank Malik, but he brushes by them without another word. She stares at his slowly disappearing back, and wonders to herself why he engraves such a lonesome silhouette onto the horizon.

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His prisoner is sitting across from him. Altair gives her a cursory glance, and the light seeping through the cracks of wood catches a hint of gold.

"That's a lovely ring," he casually comments.

"It was given to me by Robert De Sable, when he took me under his wing. This is about all I have left of my ties to the Templars now," Maria replies bitterly as she bites down on her lip. She had almost let out her secret.

"Did you study philosophy, Maria?" he asks abruptly. She looks up sharply at him. The way he says her name, too familiar and with his accent, is like a stab through flesh.

She impulsively shifts farther away from the man. "I have read scraps, nothing more."

"The philosopher Empedocles preached that all life on earth began simply in rudimentary forms. Hands without arms, heads without bodies, eyes without faces. He believed that all these early forms combined, very gradually over time, create all forms of life we see before us. Interesting, eh?"

A low chuckle emits from her throat. "I do not see the point in your ramblings," Maria lightly teases back.

Listening to her voice, Altair concedes Maria to be a handsome woman. One who is full of strength and dignity, and even in the face of danger she can still muster the will to laugh. He wonders how Jin would fare in such an unpleasant situation.

The sharp peals of the ship's bell announce the end of their trip, and successfully put an end to his internal musings.

He gets up, and not unkindly, pulls Maria up by her arm. As he helps her walk across the wooden floor of the rocking ship, Altair answers, "Only a mind free of impediments, capable of grasping the chaotic beauty of the world. This is our greatest asset."

Maria regards him warily. "But is chaos something to be celebrated? Is disorder a virtue?"

"It presents us with challenges, yes. But freedom yields greater rewards than the alternative. The order and peace that the Templar seeks requires servility and imprisonment."

"Hm… I know the feeling," admits Maria, albeit slowly. Her whole reason for joining the Templars, leaving her homeland behind, was to seek out freedom. She cannot imagine living out her life as a pampered lady, hiding behind a mask of smiles and entertaining courtesans.

Altair flashes her a momentary smile and then cuts loose the bindings on her wrist. She look up at him questioningly, but then her gaze diverts to behind him.

Two haggard and dirty-looking pirates approaches them from behind, brandishing swords. Altair jerks his head to the nearby ladder and Maria, taking the hint, quickly climbs up. He is not far behind her when her foot suddenly deals him a sharp kick to the face.

Unbalanced and caught unaware, he drops to the bottom. He whips around, and sees the pirates advancing rapidly with deadly scimitars in hand. A light curse escapes his mouth, but a slight smile materializes on his lips.

It seems his wily prisoner will not go down without a fight.

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The evening air in the garden is cool and refreshing. Jin breathes in deeply, and detects the subtle hints of sensual jasmine. She is done with her meal, and prepares to embark on her daily stroll through the garden before retiring for the night.

The garden is the quintessence opposite of the fortress. Tall, unyielding stone edifices are actually hiding a tiny piece of paradise within their imposing walls. Where the fortress is gray, regal and rigid, the garden behind is a lazy, sprawling stretch of green foliage that calls to the wandering eye with temptation.

As Jin steps down from the marble steps and into the soft grass, she is careful to not put too much weight on her injured ankle. The elder at the infirmary has expertly placed a splint on her leg and told her not to put stress on it.

So Jin limps her way to a nearby gazebo and sits quietly under its white railings.

Not for the first time that day, she wonders how Altair is doing. Whether he is well, and who is tending to his injuries. If there will be anyone to scold him for being reckless. To help him gather information. Or to listen to his reflective musings.

The corners of her mouth tilt in a wistful curve. She leans back into the cushion of leaves, and relives their time in Jerusalem. How gentle his hands are as they apply the salve to her back. The molten gold shining from his eyes right before he kissed her. And the warmth she found in his embrace, as they laid sleeping in one bed.

Malik watches the girl sitting within the white and yellow blossoms from the balcony of his office. She looks so lovelorn. The way she is gazing off in the distance, her eyes unfocused, but at the same time seeing something no one else is privy to.

He scoffs under his breath.

She is a fool. Not only will her affections cause an unwanted distraction for Altair, but if her feelings are somehow reciprocated, then she will become his Achille's heel.

A fatal weakness. One that no assassin should have.

But Malik does not move. He watches how the twilight warms her pale skin, and how the leaves swirl around her in ethereal grace. A golden-haired daughter of the garden, that is what she is. And he has to grudgingly admit, she creates a beautiful painting.

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"It is that madwoman sir! She has gone on a rampage…two guards are dead!"

"Let her play. She has served her purpose," commands the Grand Master of the Templars as he and his guards take their leave from the dungeon. Not a moment after their footsteps fade, Altair detaches himself from the shadows and lets himself in the same door they left from.

The air within the cell is damp, musty with the scent of mold. There is barely any illumination in the vast blackness, and he can barely make out the outlines of columns and the mangled bodies of men on the stone floor. Markos, the local resistance leader, informed him of an Oracle who is in service of the Templars. He surmises that she is the reason why the Templars are always one step ahead of them, always knowing which move they will make.

But Altair thinks otherwise. He knows there must be a traitor amongst the men, but he still accepted this mission nevertheless.

A hiss from the darker regions of the prison cell, and then a voice calls out, "Pagan blood…I know your name sinner…I know why you are here…"

Altair pads quietly towards the voice, his hidden blade unsheathed. The chamber is vast, and the female voice echoes from all directions.

A heavy thump announces her arrival from the ceiling. He sinks into a defensive crouch.

"God guide my claws… God grant me strength to break your bones…"

With a screech, the witch launches herself at him. He sidesteps her easily, but suddenly there is a sharp pain on his cheek. He gingerly touch his face, and finds himself bleeding from a slight cut.

He takes another look at her. She holds no knife. But on her wrists are jagged edges of broken metal, presumably what is left from shackles. The witch's movements are just as unpredictable. Sometimes she is upright, sometimes she drops down to all fours. She swings wildly, but there is almost a fanatical strength behind her attacks.

Altair blocks. Feints to his left as she leaps, and catches her arm midair. He pushes her against a column, and holds her arms at her sides.

Her eyes have lost all semblances of awareness. They are pools of milky white and her dark hair is plastered to her face in disarray. The smell of sweat, blood, and urine is emanates from her body.

Even in defeat, she spits daggers at him, "I am His instrument… I fear no pain… nor death!"

"Tell me, what secrets did you tell the Templars?" Altair demands. Her head lolls back, and she glares at him with a bloodshot eye.

"Not without purpose I deal in misery… By God's command… I am His instrument…" she babbles on. He sighs, takes in her pathetic state, and comes to a decision.

"Whatever the Templars have done to you my Lady, they have done you wrong. Forgive me for this…" he mutters as his blade finds her spine. A quick and painless death. He murmurs a light prayer for her as she lays her body on the ground.

His left hand touches something cool on her neck. Underneath the cruel metal collar responsible for the angry red welts on her neck, there is a gold chain. He pulls on it sharply, breaks it off from the corpse, and takes it outside.

In better light, Altair makes out a small coin engraved with an insignia hanging from the chain. It looks strangely familiar. But the sounds of approaching guards alerts him to danger, so he tucks it within his satchel, and slinks back into the shadows.

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"Teach me how to fight."

Malik looks up from the series of maps he was deciphering. Jin stands in front of his desk. Her shoulders set and mouth pressed in a determined line.

He slowly straightens up. "And what, may I ask, brought about this idea?"

"I need to become stronger. Become more useful."

"So that the next time Altair leaves for a mission, he will take you with him?" Malik finishes her unspoken thought for her. The slight widening of her eyes answers his suspicions.

"Do not be presumptuous. Altair works alone, and will always work alone. No matter how hard you train, how much you give up for him, it will be a merely another grain of sand in a desert. The best help you can offer is to just stay out of harm's way."

Emerald green tightens in anger at his words. Malik assumes a bored expression, and bends over his maps, silently dismissing her.

Jin refuses to leave. "I need to be able to defend myself. I cannot have him saving me every single time."

"I see the logic in that. However, you must be dull if you think I can spare the time to train you."

"Which is why I ask you to place me under the guidance of Master Husam," Jin replies with a suggestion of a grin.

Malik regards her carefully. No doubt she has already asked the ex-assassin sword master multiples times, only to be rejected.

"That is unlikely. You are not a member of the Creed. Moreover, you are a woman. To have him teach you is-"

"What difference does it make? I am another willing student. More so because becoming his student will be an honor and a privilege rather than a right," Jin counters.

He shoots her a warning look. "You are testing my patience."

"Good, because it seems like you are a very patient man," she replies in a sarcastic manner. Not unlike his own.

Malik stares at her. Jin stares back.

He can feel the quiet strength radiating from her body. In the firmness of her posture and the light in her eyes. He closes his eyes tiredly, and wonders how Altair manages to handle this girl.

"Let me look into this matter. I will need to discuss it with Master Husam," Malik answers carefully.

Jin beams at him. She turns and heads down the stairs with lightness in her steps.

A chuckle finally makes its way out of his mouth. Malik covers his face, half in exasperation and half in absurdity.

He sends a swift, hushed prayer to the heavens. For Altair to return. Quickly.

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The oil lamp creates a warm orange glow within the cabin. The rhythmic dipping and rising of the ship is calming after one gets accustomed to it.

Altair dips his quill in the ink well and continues his thought on the crisp paper.

_Our origins seem chaotic, unintended. With purpose and being instilled solely by the passage of time. Imposed by nature- and later, by men. What should we do with this rare gift of life?_

"You have been writing for quite some time. More priceless teachings of Empedocles?" A teasing voice asks him from behind. Altair does not need to turn to know who it is.

Maria situates herself behind his chair and leans over. They have been traveling together by ship for three days. Learning about each other as well as each other's cultures. He finds her company a welcome distraction and her a captivating character.

She also comes from a culture in which women are viewed as inferior beings. Their options are severely limited in contrast to those of men. She has given up much to join the Templars, and now just like him, she wanders aimlessly, her original dream shattered and herself a lost soul.

"Not quite. I am writing of the Piece of Eden," Altair replies as he gestures to the tiny object resting on the wooden desk.

"Keeping a record of the treasure is dangerous is it not?" she asks quietly.

Altair tilts his head to glance at her. "Yes, but so is having it fall into the wrong hands. As long as there are informed people, then I shall place my trust in their choices."

"Ever the optimist," she lightly teases. He smiles back and then finishes the last sentence. Placing the quill back in its rest, he turns towards her.

"I assume there is something you would like to tell me?"

"Yes," she starts, and then pauses. For the first time, he sees her uncomfortable and it makes him curious.

"We are nearing the end of this journey. There are business I must settle in Acre, and I am certain you have things to take care of. But afterwards, you will be traveling all around the world and discovering secrets about the Piece of Eden?"

"It seems so."

"Then I would like to join you," Maria finishes with a tone of finality.

His amber gaze focuses on her. He does not merely take her offer at face value.

True, they have saved each other's necks multiple times during their adventures in Cyprus. She is mature, intelligent, and has a connection with the Templars which prove to be useful in the future. Furthermore, he would be lying if he says he is not in the least bit attracted to her.

But there is someone waiting for him. Someone who wishes for his return, and who will mourn if he never comes back.

He is responsible for her after all.

"I will take your offer into account, Maria," Altair manages after a brief silence, "I shall be in touch."

She nods slowly. For some reason, he cannot stand to see the dejection in her eyes.

Altair rises to his feet. With his right hand, he lightly strokes her cheek, and says ruefully, "Maria, there are many open doors for you now. You are no longer bound by duty, and can walk as far as you want. There are much better options than to follow me on my senseless wanderings."

Maria does not reply, but merely leans into his touch. He feels his stomach tightening.

"There is no point in walking such a long way alone."

Her fingers are suddenly undressing him, and he does not stop her. His hood, his robe, and his weapons all drop to floor. He does not stop her when she strips off her own clothing, and he does not resist when she melds her body into his.

Altair closes his eyes.

He can always pretend.

* * *

Notes: Wah! It's been so long since I updated! Sorries...

1) I did watch Bloodlines on Youtube, (and used a good chunk of copied dialogue) b/c I figured I won't be getting a PSP and there's no point in playing the game. And my oh my... The things I found out. I mean, Maria and Altair? Did anyone see that coming? Gad, now I have to work that in the fic. Which isn't that hard considering I was planning to have love rivals.

The ending was, of course, ambiguous and crap. So is my ending to the chapter now that I realize. People would have to play/watch Bloodlines too in order to get the full effect of their developing relationship, b/c it seems like all of a sudden they went from captive and captor to ... *cough cough*. But I have to admit, their taunting of each other is quite entertaining. And that kick in the face? PRICELESS.

My interpretation though: He is mildly attracted to her, at least her personality, but he saves her b/c he is tired of ppl dying. That and the first time they met, he was reminded of Jin when he found her impersonating Robert. Also he is responsible for Robert's death, and therefore a part of the reason why her life is miserable. A mixture of guilty conscience and duty with a dash of physical attraction leads to... one messed up deal.

2) I will not be playing AC 2 for awhile. At least after finals so during winter break. NO SPOILING PLZ.

3) Update on Jin: She's just trying to make herself useful. And no, she's still not good friends with Malik. Oh those two... :D

I wanted to introduce some OC's so it does not seem like he is the only one she talks to, but I find reading a fic with a lot of OC's is rather confusing.

4) Moral of the day: If you want to hold on to a guy, sleep with him so he doesn't go skirt chasing in foreign lands. (jking jking! lol) But really, this is why couples need to be "official".

5) And yes, I am a girl. I just talk like a guy. Jin regularly chops her hair. She's not picky/vain about it.


	11. Chapter 11

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Chapter 11

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He is not surprised to find her gone when he opens his eyes.

The spot next to him in the bed is empty. The sheets rumpled, but cold. The ship is still, so they have docked at Acre already.

The slant angle of sunlight proclaims it to be early morning. He rises slowly and silently, shaking out the kinks in his body.

Altair notes the treasure lying undisturbed at the table. Interesting. One explanation he has for Maria's behavior last night was that she had hoped to create an opportunity to steal the Apple of Eden. But since the relic is still here, she has another motive.

He sees her precious ring lying besides it, and begins to feel the start of a headache. The assassin sighs, and proceeds to laboriously don his equipment.

Once outside, he gives a nod to the captain, and pays the rest of agreed fare. He does not need to search through the ship to know that Maria is not there. He knows how that woman thinks.

Just not her intentions.

The Templar's numbers in Acre are now greatly reduced, and they no longer spare the men to guard the rooftops. Altair leaps from building to building. His head is drumming with many questions, and none of them answers. The headache is getting worse.

He must make haste to Masyaf. That is a well-defined and clear objective.

As always when he finds himself in turmoil, he clears his thoughts, and let the soothing wind carry them away.

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The baby is gone. Vanished without a trace.

Maria silently takes in the condition of the room. Cobwebs covering furniture and the dusty corners of the room. No trace of the wet nurse she hired.

Fists clenching so tightly that she might draw blood, the sole female Templar spins on her feet, leaving the desolate scene with a slam of the door.

As she enters the Templar's hold, the guards openly gape at her approaching figure. They have long given her up for dead. A new commander already arrived via ship three weeks ago.

"Lady Maria! We thought- How is-?"

One look at her furious ice-blue eyes immediately silences the sentinels. They salute sharply, and immediately lets her pass.

The men part like waves in front of her. Always giving her a three yard radius. They have worked long enough under her to know not to approach lest they have a death wish.

Unfortunately, the newly hired commander has no such knowledge. He takes in her disheveled appearance, dirtied clothing, and travel-weary face with disdain, and descends the stairs from his office to meet her in the courtyard.

"Oh, so you are alive after all? With all that ruckus in Cyprus that you have caused alongside with the assassin and you still dare to set foot in -" the rest of his words end in a wet gurgle as Maria's blade slices through his jugular. Crimson shoots out in a violent, gory spray, staining her as well as the nearby men. The commander, who she does not even know the name, crumples to the ground. Maria spits on his corpse, and turns to face the crowd.

"Let it be known, that I am not a traitor. At least not to the cause I believe in. The Templar organization that I abandoned my family and homeland for is one which seeks a just and peaceful society. This is not who we are now. Armand Bouchart is the real traitor, and he and his followers has been dealt with appropriately. I have come back to claim what is rightfully mine. To reclaim our lost purpose in the only way possible."

Now she takes a dagger from her side, unsheathes it and in an unwavering voice declares, "You do not have to believe me. If all of you think me as unworthy, then I shall take my own life here and now. You will all be leaderless and free to do as you please. Go home, and reunite with your families. Or stay here and build a new life for yourselves. The choice will be up to you." As the words leave her mouth, the dagger draws closer and closer to her own exposed neck.

"Lady Maria! Please!"

She turns at the voice. It is George, her usual right hand man. He is down on his knees, his eyes beseechingly seeking out hers. With quiet shock, Maria takes in the sight of all the men, with no hesitation at all, bowing and kneeling down on one leg. There is no more question of her authority.

"Very well. I am touched by your loyalty. Someone please get this trash out of my sight, and George, please update me as I clean out the office." Her officer scrambles clumsily to his feet. When they are both out of earshot from the others, he answers her unspoken question without prompting.

"While you were away, Gilbert Horal's men came and took the wet nurse as well as the babe. He is now the current Grand Master of the Templars, and he has left me a letter in case you do come back."

He hands her a single roll of parchment, the melted wax a engraved with the seal of the highest Templar station. She breaks it and reads the paper impatiently. Then reads it again. George's face remains impassive as a few choice words escapes her lips.

"That manipulative bastard," she spits out. Furious, she crumples the letter with one hand throws it across the room. "George, make preparations to leave for France. I need to compose a letter."

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"You wish to see me?"

Malik raises his intent gaze to meet Jin's questioning one.

"Yes," he answers simply. Moments pass as he appraises her silently.

"Well?" Jin cannot hold back any longer.

A sigh escapes from his stern mouth. "I hear you are apprenticed under Shafiq, and is working under him in the infirmary."

She nods in affirmation. "That is my main work and area of expertise. Under my current master I hope to learn all that he is able to teach me about medicine and treating wounds."

"I also hear, that you are a regular visitor at the stables, and by the fifth day you learned how to ride."

She cringes. "Yes, after many falls."

"Lastly, I hear Master Husam has assigned you a teacher, and that you are taking sword lessons almost daily." Jin's immediate grin falters under Malik's disapproving glare.

"Is that a problem?" she ventures.

"I do not recall giving him specific instructions about that matter."

"You never meant for me to become his student," Jin fills in the gaps quickly. Malik is silent.

"He came into the infirmary one day, asking for the antidote for black cobra's venom. One of his apprentices got bitten, and Master Shafiq's antidote required some ingredients that were out of stock. I mixed another version of the antidote for him, and in return, he agreed to take me as a student," she offers as a way of explanation.

Malik exhales slowly. What she says is true. He never did mean for her to be taken under Husam's tutelage. It is just so… unbecoming and unprecedented for a woman to take up a sword. But with her own resources, she nevertheless manages to convince the sword master to take her as a student.

"Remarkable," is all he can manage. Jin looks up at him curiously. "I have truly underestimated your will. So be it Jinan, I see my words will not sway you even if I tried. You may go."

"Thank you," the girl murmurs. She cannot be sure, but she thinks it is respect that is showing on his harsh features. Malik does not smile. At least not sincerely. But the slight twitch on the side of his mouth and the incredulous look in his eyes concedes her the victory even if he will not say it. So like the clear spring breeze, she descends from Malik's office without another word.

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Jin always go to the garden when she has free time. The flowers, the lush greenery, and the small little gazebos always calms and soothes her troubles.

But she has never once visited the garden this late. The silvery moonlight casts long shadows and a night owl hoots into the balmy night air. The noiseless girl makes her way across the wide expanse of grass, and then slows. She can see her usual spot is occupied. By a man and a woman.

Jin shrugs, and follows the another path towards another section of the garden. As she passes by, the hushed voices, or rather, the muffled sounds makes her pause. Jin frowns. She knows what is occurring inside that gazebo, but to be doing such things in public…

"You might want to move along newcomer," a silken voice whispers against her ear.

Jin jumps. She turns and comes face to face with a girl she has never seen before.

She looks so very young, even if there is kohl around her almond-shaped eyes and rouge on her lips. Her hair is uncovered, long black tresses draping over her shoulders. White, translucent clothe wrap seductively around her slender body and a sweet perfume wafts into Jin's nose.

"My name is Yasmin," she says as she grabs Jin's wrist and begins to pull her away, "And my sister will not appreciate us eavesdropping." When they have put some distance between the two lovers, the girl turns to her and asks "What is your name?"

"I go by Jin," Jin answers, "And I am-"

"Altair's woman. Yes, we know," Yasmin smiles knowingly.

"N-no. It is not like that, you misunderstand…" Jin trails off at the look the other girl is giving her.

"Well why else would he request that you be excluded from the Garden and kept out of reach from Lady Zahrah?"

"Who?" Jin asks in a curious voice. The way the girl said 'garden' suggests something more.

Yasmin shoots her a credulous look. "You mean you do not know who she is? She is the head of the Garden and all the Flowers answer to her."

"Garden? Flowers?" Jin echoes back. This is a whole new organization she has not been informed of. The girl in front of her giggles. She has still not released Jin's wrist, and she continues to pull her to another sitting area. Unfortunately for them, it also seems to be occupied.

Yasmin glances at Jin's furious blush, and proclaims, "My, my. You are a virgin! No wonder Master Altair keeps you hidden up in that tower."

Jin gapes at her. The impudent girl has no qualms touching on sensitive subjects. Yasmin continues on casually, ignoring the incredulous look on the other girl's face.

"Our organization is referred to as Garden. Lady Zahrah is our leader. She is the only one we, the Flowers, answer to, and she herself answers to the Master of the Brotherhood. Sometimes. She can be very… persuasive. We are women who have two main purposes: to act as subterfuge for the Brothers in their missions, and to please our men."

The blonde girl stops in her tracks. Yasmin casually turns around. "Why the look? Is it not obvious by now?"

"Like… a brothel?" Jin whispers. At the apparent dismay on Jin's face, Yasmin begins to shake with laughter.

"Oh no! We are so much more respectable than a mere whore. Who we please is to our own choosing. After all, we are already taken care of by our Lady, and although she does teach us various skills and arts, she would never force us to bed others. But what every girl wishes for is to be eventually taken as a bride. Assassins are still men, and all men will eventually want a family. There is no better selection than a girl from the Garden- free of disease and already loyal to the Brotherhood. It is a generous deal for us since we were starving as street urchins or sold from poor families. Our future, because we dedicate our lives to serving the Brotherhood, is brighter in our own hands. Although… many girls are still mourning because you have shattered their dreams," Yasmin replies with a wink.

"How?"

"Why by taking Altair of course! There were so many who wished to catch his eye, but the moment word passed of a girl he brought back from Jerusalem, their hopes were dashed to pieces," Yasmin replies with a even more laughter, a tinkling and not unpleasant sound.

Jin nods slowly. There is much information to digest, and this girl chatters like a sparrow.

"What kind of arts?" Jin inquires warily, the answer already shaping within her mind.

Yasmin giggles, and with a finger on her cherry-colored lips, leads her to the area they just left. Hiding behind a leafy bush, she beckons Jin to take a look. She does, and immediately ducks down. With her face beet red.

"Why are you making me look?" Jin asks in a furious whisper.

"The best way to understand is to see a demonstration. My teacher also did the same. Come, watch carefully. As long as you do not get caught."

Jin hesitantly peeks through the bush again. Forcing herself to look at the couple's lovemaking.

A woman, with her sleek, black hair draping over her naked shoulders is straddling the man. She places heated kisses down his neck, traveling lower until her fingers are fumbling with the man's trousers and her mouth is sucking a nipple through the shirt.

Jin bites down on her lip stop the cry from coming out. She has seen acts of this nature at the brothel too often. But this is different. The woman is in control here. At her merest touch, a slight glance from lowered lashes, and the man under her trembles helplessly. One look at her eyes is proof enough: she is enjoying it.

A completely alien concept for Jin. Bedding a man has always seemed like a job. Something distasteful for the want of a few coins. But having seen this…

Jin turns away abruptly. She is watching a kind of intimacy in which she was not aware of. Even though the couple has no idea of her presence, she suddenly feels so self conscious that she might as well be intruding.

"Where are you going?" Yasmin calls out to her.

Jin retraces the path she came from as fast as she can. Not sparing another glance over her shoulder, her heart is pounding loudly in her chest and she does not know why. She stops at the entrance to the familiar stone building, slowly catching her breath.

"You are so troublesome," huffs an irritated Yasmin, "You are plainly interested in learning about the Garden, and yet you showed such embarrassment and ran away after seeing such a display? That was merely a drop in the ocean."

Jin, tight-lipped and back ramrod straight, walks stiffly under the marble arch.

Yasmin calls out to her retreating back, "The knowledge we can offer you is just as important riding a horse and swordplay. This is something only us women can do, and you will be foolish to pass up this chance! Just think, no matter how patient Master Altair is, he will soon leave you for another woman if you keep him waiting forever!"

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It is high noon when he passes under the gates of Masyaf. Altair notes the passage of time grimly. The spring flowers are already giving way to the sweltering heat of summer. The sun is almost blinding in its radiance, and denizens are walking in light muslim.

As he enters the fortress, the roaring of a crowd draws his attention. Each yell is punctuated with the sharp cry of sword against sword. Altair hastens his pace. Looks like trouble is astir while he was away.

The rabble of men are crowding around the sparring ring, and he easily brushes past them. After maneuvering his way in, Altair takes one look inside the ring, and stops in his tracks.

Jin, wearing nothing but breast bindings and baggy men trousers, faces off against a burly, much taller apprentice. Altair recognizes the boy to be Imad, a dull, slow-witted youth who would have advanced to higher ranks if his brain can grow at the same rate as his muscles.

The crowd cheers every time Jin manages to block a blow, and the men whoop louder when she manages to deal a strike. The two circle each other warily, each not giving ground.

"Looks like a woman will have a better chance at earning the blade than you!" jeers an onlooker. "Watch out! Here comes the man-killer!" The insults were far from being flattering for either of the fighters.

Altair grits his teeth with impatience. He watches with growing fury as she clumsily lunges with her short sword. A growl escapes his lips, and he pulls himself over the fence.

Silence immediately falls upon the rowdy gang at the sight of him. The two sparring in the ring pays him no heed, as they are both too intent on each other's movement. Imad is turning the tide of battle only with his sheer strength and endurance. Jin blocks sluggishly, her arms protesting every time his sword heavily falls upon hers.

Suddenly, her sword unexpectedly flies out of her weary hand, and Jin turns in surprise.

Altair stands behind her, his golden, chilly disapproval lowering the temperature even though the sun is shining warmly.

"Just what. Are. You. Doing," he demands, grinding out each word with angry emphasis.

He takes in the sight of her. Her pale skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat. Blonde, wavy hair, uncovered and tied back, releases tendrils of hair that curl around her face like a vixen. An unprecedented amount of her slender body is showing. His eyes follow a trail of sweat downward, dilating as it traces the contours of her collarbone and disappears down the valley between her breasts.

Altair inhales sharply.

Jin stares wordlessly back, too dazed to form a coherent sentence. It has been weeks and weeks since his departure. She has immersed herself in meaningful work and the rich culture that is the Brotherhood, forcing herself to forget her whole reason for existence.

This man. The one standing in front of her.

Without wasting breath, he clasps her wrist in a death grip, and forcibly yanks her out of the ring. The crowd watches the procession silently. Jin can see fear and anxiety in their faces. She glances up at Altair, takes in his dark and unreadable face, and is suddenly afraid for her own plight.

He does not speak until they are both inside his room. Or rather, her room.

"Let go," she struggles fruitlessly against his grip. He does not.

"Explain." He commands. Terse and ruthless. His sensual mouth set in a grim line. The glare he is giving her is quite unlike she has ever seen. His tawny gaze is positively arctic and it effectively puts an end to her struggling .

Jin inhales deeply. Shamed at her own trembling voice, she answers, "I-I was sparring. The men do not think I am capable of learning swordplay. So...so I set out to prove them wrong."

"And why are you dressed," his hand gestures furiously at her impromptu outfit, "like this?"

Jin looks down at herself, and then glances up at him. "The regular training outfit does not fit me. Besides, it is way too hot to be wearing much clothing. They took off their shirts, I just followed example."

Altair closes his eyes in exasperation.

"I do not see why you are so concerned about such trivial matters. No one dares to touch me for fear of your vengeance. It is my body, and if I choose to expose it, and my scars, then why do you care? Unless…" Jin watches him slyly, "You are jealous?"

A muscle twitches from his clenched jaw. But other than that, Altair remains taciturn.

"From now on, you are not to set foot in the sparring ring unless I tell you to. Do not dare approach men of the Brotherhood. Remember where you are. In an assassin's fortress with many, many dangerous men. Believe me when I say it is in your best interest to stay discrete," Altair glares down at her.

"And be forever ignored and disregarded as a female? I know what they are thinking! They all think I am your concubine, helpless and fragile because I do nothing. And they were partially right. I did not know how to defend myself, or ride a horse. But these last couple of weeks I have been working hard to change all of that."

His eyes narrow at her words. "And why do you need to? You are safe here. You are stepping out of your place."

Rage colors her face a furious red. Without warning, Jin deals out a slap to his face.

"My place? Need I remind you that I will not be those insipid women, cooking faithfully at home while their husbands fuck with a whore. I will be useful. I will be just as capable as a man if not more so. I choose my own path in life. Remember that!"

She has never raised her voice like this before. The words are flying out of her mouth like arrows, and they are doing damage.

Altair flinches slightly. More so from her words than the slap.

"I see." His tone is cold and impersonal. "Then do as you wish."

He turns and walks out the door, leaving only emptiness behind.

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"Oh… what a fiasco," Yasmin's silky voice finds Jin sitting by herself at the base of a tree. Nothing is spectacular about the tree, it stands by itself in a meadow of soft green, and yet Jin finds herself drawn to this particular spot outside of the Garden's perimeter.

"Master Altair has caught you misbehaving. Dare I ask what sort of punishment he dealt out?"

"None, and do not speak such nonsense. I was clearly not in the wrong," Jin snaps back. Yasmin's tittering is slowly getting on her nerves.

"Oh? How is it not? Flaunting your immodesty and exposing your body to dozens of hormone-driven men is not a cause for worry?"

"What does it matter? They do not see me as a woman anyways. I spend all my days in the dirty stables, mucking out horse shit, and sweating up a storm during training."

"But Altair does," Yasmin points out. Jin tilts back her head listlessly. She follows the endless branches of the knarled tree. The leaves bend gracefully under the dance of the breeze, and she wishes to be able to catch the wind underneath her arms. Lifting her away from her inner turmoil.

"Yes… and no. He… I do not know what he thinks of me." Her lower lip trembles with uncertainty. She has been working to improve herself. All for what? She had been telling herself it is for her own survival.

But she is fooling herself if she does not admit it is also for Altair's approval and recognition. The look of gratitude he gave her when she tended his wounds. Or how he smiled at her with pride when her poisons worked. She wants more, more of everything.

"Silly girl! Take it from us onlookers, the man is taken by you. If you are as innocent as you seem, then he has been restraining himself. He did not allow you to be taken under our Lady's wing for obvious reasons: he cannot bear to let other men have you. Have you considered that?" Yasmin asks in a low voice.

Jin's viridian eyes drifts down to examine Yasmin's earnest features. While she finds the girl flippant and shallow, Jin admits Yasmin is more knowledgeable in certain areas. She finds herself nodding slowly in agreement.

"Yasmin?"

"Hm?"

Taking a deep breath, Jin gathers her new-found confidence. "Teach me."

* * *

Notes: Happy Holidays! Made it in time for New Years! :D I really don't know what's worse. Not being able to play ACII or not being able to finish it once you started. T_T

1) Consider this a filler episode. B/c I'm not close to finishing game and PS3 is at friend's house. I need to read all the codex pages but I refuse to read them online.

2) An introduction of a female character b/c I feel like all Jin is exposed to are men and their opinions. She needs to find herself and part of that is to how to be a woman. Once again, using Callalili's fic _Bitter Leaves and Blossoms Bright_ concept of a Garden.

3) I love how the readers were so outraged about the last chapter. And how everyone wants Jin to get with Malik or another guy to get back at Altair. Really you guys... two wrongs don't make a right. xD And society back then were pretty much full of double standards like that. But readers' reactions are priceless. Makes my day worthwhile. hehe

4) ... the tower scene in ACII is driving me crazy. Not only does it lack explanations, but I have no clue where it is chronologically. And Altair just seems way too attached to Maria... T_T I also lament for my OC.


	12. Chapter 12

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Chapter 12

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He searches the night canvas for the one star. Amidst the millions of glittering diamonds, tawny amber easily finds the one star that he was named after.

Although many years have passed, he can still faintly remember the scent of his mother, and warmth of her arms as she held him and pointed at the night sky.

_That is your star, Altair. Look up and find it when you have lost your way. It will always be there, waiting for you and listening to life's troubles. _

He had believed her whole-heartedly back then. Before she sent him away and he never saw her or his father again. That is the way of the Creed. He could not have been older than four. When they passed away, they were already strangers to him, and Al Mualim became the only family he knew.

Altair leans back on the rooftop, and closes his eyes. Drawing a deep breath, he prepares for a long, sleepless night, until an amused drawl beckons from below.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of having your presence on my roof?" Malik's sardonic voice drifts from the open window.

"I am considering whether I will sleep here tonight," Altair replies evenly. The other man scoffs. "You can always come inside. You never needed my permission for anything,"

"I am aware of that." His answer is disinterested. Almost apologizing so. Malik straightens. This is not how their usual banter comes to pass.

"Something troubles you," he immediately deduces, "speak, and do not bother denying it."

A deep chuckle arises from above. "Do you think the stars are always watching us my dear friend?"

_Oh, so a philosophical diversion. Admirable effort my friend, but I know you too well. _

"Perhaps, but they cannot be watching one person all the time. Like how we cannot keep our eyes on just one star," Malik answers as he leans against the sill of the window, "And one person cannot hope to constantly watch another."

A heavy sigh into the night air. "So you heard about today's incident."

"Yes, it hardly is possible not to when word spreads of your return and you did not report to me. Let me assure you that I did not encourage her to seek out training. She did so of her own accord, and despite my efforts in dissuading her, she persisted."

"I can imagine," Altair comments dryly.

"She is quite a handful, that one. You pick your women well Altair." Malik's crippling sarcasm, once directed towards him with bigotry, is now lighthearted teasing.

Finally, a real laugh comes out of his mouth. "Hardly."

The younger assassin lets himself in by the window. Malik nods in greeting, and gestures to the low table sitting amongst the lush carpets and pillows. Both men seat themselves and begin pouring drinks.

"There will be time in the morning to tell me of the events on Cyprus. For tonight, please share your troubled thoughts Brother."

"I had a… minor disagreement with Jin. The matter will solve itself in due time,"

Altair shrugs, and takes a gentle sip of the wine. "More importantly, I have this uneasy feeling regarding the Piece of Eden. Questions find me at every corner and with not enough answers. I am at a loss."

The older Dai observes him quietly. The stiffness of his shoulders, and the furrow between his brows belies his nonchalant attitude. But if Altair does not feel the need to confide in him, then what is the use of pursuing a dead end?

"I need the truth. The Apple offers so much, and yet nothing. I know it is a weapon that should be destroyed, but-"

"But you cannot bear to before you come to the answers you seek," Malik grimly finishes for him. "Yes, I know your way of thinking all too well."

Altair's words are genuine and sincere, tinged with rare warmth. "Thank you, Malik."

"Why not just isolate yourself and devote every waking hour to learning the secrets of this relic? There is no pressing need for you to resume your responsibilities as the leader of this organization. The Brotherhood obviously does not need your counsel and presence," the older man adds on off-handedly.

"Have I ever praised your wit and humor dear friend?"

"Not likely. Come, sing my praises. I never tire of it."

"You are right. I have been neglecting my duties as of late. The Piece of Eden and my personal research can wait. Tomorrow, we shall talk of situation with the Templars and I need you to show me what I missed since I was gone," Altair ruefully admits.

"Prudent decision. I drink to your health, O' Wise One," Malik raises his cup in a mock gesture. Altair returns the toast, grinning slyly as he says, "I am sincerely glad I have earned your approval."

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Her days are overflowing to the brim with assignments. In the morning, Jin rises to attend to the stables and has her usual run with her favorite mare. After a brief breakfast, she meets with Abra, a Sister assigned by Yasmin, to learn her letters and how to read maps. Right before lunch, she goes and trains in the courtyard with her instructor, and during lunchtime, she finds Master Shafiq and observes him quietly as he goes through his routine. She helps out in whichever way possible, and the sun usually sets before she is finished.

It is in the evening, after dinner, when Jin seeks out Yasmin. By the time her "teacher" is done with her, Jin is, more often than not, completely exhausted. She does not even bother with clothing, and regularly dives into her bed, sound asleep before her head hits the pillow.

Even still, she is painfully aware of Altair's absence. He has not shown himself to her since the incident. Not even a shadow of a shadow.

She is certain he is avoiding her. And if she dreams of his rich voice whispering to her, or sense his touch, lightly brushing hair from her face, she tells herself it is only a dream, and nothing more.

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The filly tosses her head in wild abandon. Her shining black mane whips to and fro. Her blazing eyes, full of spirit, issue a silent challenge to the uneasy crowd of novices. The surrounding men inadvertently take a step back from her thunderous hooves.

_Let us start with the five senses of the body. There is touch, scent, sound, taste, and most importantly sight. The last one is the most prevalent, and therefore we will dedicate much time on that one. _

"She has so much fire, that one. Well-bred and destined to be as fast as lightning, but she has refused the saddle, and bucks off any who dares to ride her. Are you sure Master? " the young handler asks him apprehensively. He does not bother to answer.

_Walk and sit with your back straight. This way it displays your body in the most flattering manner. When sitting, always point your feet to make your legs appear longer. Like so. _

_Movements of the body should be like works of art. The sway of your hips are likened to music, and the curve of your arm will be poetry. Tease him, drive him insane with thoughts of your body. _

Instead, he strides confidently towards the awaiting horse. Self-assurance radiates off of his as he coaxes the filly to look at him. When she does, she instantly stops fidgeting.

He murmurs in soft whispers, and her ears prick up in attention. He exhales a breath, letting the filly become familiar with his scent. His hands glide soothingly through her mahogany hide in reassurance.

_Always have a smile. Demure and subtle. Never too wide, and no teeth. _

_Never raise your voice. Women who speak with an accent or a melodious lilt are exotic and interesting. At least you are able to sound timid and shy. Just watch those profanities you tend to make. _

_Take the time to bath in rose-scented water. And rub scented oils onto your skin so the nasty smells of horses and whatever you play around with does not follow you. _

The bridle, along with the bit, slides on before she knows what is happening. Before she can fully react, he jumps onto her back. Immediately, her nostrils flare in anger, and her eyes roll back to show white. Her whole body quivers, and he can feel the muscles bunching underneath him. Ready to shake him off.

_We women never fight battles head-to-head. The same idea goes with our eyes. Let them do the talking for you. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and so we almost never allow him to look into them directly. Remember to tilt your head down and look up at him with coy glances. Peer from underneath your lashes. Lower them when he returns your gaze, and smile innocently. This builds up anticipation, and when the moment is ripe, then look upon him straight out, with your eyes shining with desire. _

The wind roars in his ears as she bolts. The landscape rushes by in a dizzying speed. But he holds on to the reins tightly. He matches his body to her movements. And for a moment, it feels like flying.

_Women appear to be mysterious creatures to men. Men walk in straight lines. Clear-cut and simple. We, on the other hand, can travel down a curvy road full of turns and spirals. Never let him know everything there is to you, for the moment you do, he will grow weary of you and move on. _

Eventually, the filly tires. Her furious pace slackens, but he does not pull harshly on the reins. Better to let her think she still has some semblance of control. Horses, just like people, have a distinct sense of pride and dignity. To conquer her means crushing her spirit, and he will have none of that. It will just render everything meaningless.

_Lead him while following. Allow him to take your hand while it is you holding onto him. Men have an unnecessary amount of pride and ego. Feed that need. This is an art, my dear, that requires finesse and subtlety. It takes much sacrifice to ensnare a heart, but at least with my teachings, you can have his mind and body. Afterwards, it will be up to you._

He guides her solely with the slight pressure of his legs back to the crowd back at the stables. Amidst the admiring glances of novices and knowing looks from elders, Altair dismounts the now passive filly. She stands still, foam speckling her coat and her breaths coming in heavy.

He walks up to her, and strokes her face tenderly. He notes to his satisfaction there is still that fiery spark in her eyes. However, his gaze hardens into bronze topaz as he makes his message clear.

"You are mine."

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"You want me to do what?"

"Kiss me."

Jin gawks at her mentor, speechless. Yasmin brushes off her incredulous staring. "If you do intend please your man, how did you plan to go about it but with provocative touches?"

Pink blush springing from her cheeks, Jin mumbles a reply.

"Oh Jin. You are so peculiar," Yasmin giggles at her, "Of course you are going to do that. And more. We have covered all the five senses but one. And this requires hands-on learning."

Jin tries to stifle a cry as the other girl moves closer to her. Without hesitation, Yasmin cups her face with one hand and leans in.

"W-wait!"

"Habibi, it is either me or another man. Would you be even willing to touch another with your nymph-like manner, let alone have his early death sentence resting on your conscience?" sighs Yasmin, who does not move an inch. When Jin stays silent, she murmurs triumphantly, "I thought not."

Yasmin brings their faces ever so closer. No more than a hair's breadth away. Jin clamps her eyes shut. She can feel the soft fan of Yasmin's breath on her face, and smells the scent of her flowery perfume. A feather light brush on her lips. Her fists clench.

_No… not like this!_ A voice in her head shouts.

At that moment, a derisive voice interrupts them.

"Forgive me for the intrusion," Malik takes in the scene from the entrance with the briefest of glances, "But I need to speak with Jinan." When Yasmin does not make an effort to release Jin, he adds scathingly, "Now."

Grateful for the distraction, the blonde girl hastily slips out of Yasmin's reach. Jin cannot walk fast enough towards Malik. Yet, as she approaches closer, she recalls her previous lessons.

She slows down. Takes smaller steps and keeps her eyes lowered. Jin is well aware that her teacher is watching closely, and in order to please her as well as satisfying her own curiosity, she bows her head slightly to the man in front of her.

"Yes?" she murmurs, careful to keep her voice level and soft.

Malik regards her warily for a few moments. He does not know what to think as he enters the room and comes across the two girls in such a scandalous position. And now, the fiery and unruly lioness is actually acting like a meek, harmless kitten.

"I have a mission for you."

Surprise flits across her delicate features, but is quickly suppressed.

"A mission sir?" Jin inquires in a most polite manner. Green forest glances up at him timidly through kohl-colored lashes. Malik pauses, and suddenly clears his throat. "Yes, well since you are at the novice-level training, you are eligible to receive missions at my discretion. And I say there is no time to waste. Are you willing to accept?"

"Of course. How may I be of service?" Jin tilts her head in question. The corners of her mouth lifts slowly to form a smile, drawing the older man's line of vision.

"Altair has locked himself up in the basement study with nothing but books and more books. Originally, it was his idea to use the room for studying and personal research. But lately the novice who's been delivering his food has been sent back and I do believe he has gone three days and nights without nourishment. I have already tried to advising him in renouncing the foolish endeavor, but he refuses to see reason," Malik finishes. Pointedly not making anymore eye contact and staring at the space above her head.

"I see," Jin mutters in her normal voice, "so you want to send me as a form of persuasion. I am nothing more than a tool for you. Is that right?"

Malik almost smirks. That is the familiar Jin he knows. He opens his mouth to retort, but is cut off by Yasmin, who has been listening attentively.

"Jin! Do you not see what is in front of you? An opportunity this is! The perfect chance for you to put all that you have learned to practice!" she gushes. Jin groans and covers her face with one hand.

"Careful! We do not want to smudge an hour's worth of work. Especially now that you will be needing it. Come!" Yasmin clasps both hands on Jin's shoulders and literally drags her towards the changing room. She turns to Malik with a wink and says, "You can just leave it to me. We will have him out quicker than a cobra's strike."

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The clinking of the earthenware echoes too loudly within the tunnels of the basement. Jin tries her hardest to steady her hands, but they will not stop shaking. Whether it is out of apprehension or anticipation, she does not know.

She takes a quick peek behind her. The doorway in which she enters frames the two silhouettes of Yasmin and Malik. Their faces are shrouded within shadows, but Jin knows Yasmin's expression is of pure excitement while Malik's features are etched in stony severity.

Jin pushes herself to continue walking forward. She takes in the long, shadowy hallway with nervousness. Wax candles, burning for long periods of time, light the way at brief intervals. At every ten paces there is a branch-off, connecting hallways that lead to infinite darkness. There is no ending in sight.

Malik told her to continue forward until the last door. Now that she is standing in front of it, she takes a few minutes to collect herself. She has no inkling of what his reaction will be. Will he still be angry? Silent and aloof?

Even if she does succeed in convincing him, what will she do then? Her recent conversation with Yasmin resurfaces.

"_Of course you will take him to bed," the younger girl sighed exasperatedly, "Is it not what we have been working towards this entire time?"Once she was done stripping Jin out of her normal, baggy clothing, she moved onto the underclothes._

"_Out of wedlock? My parents will turn in their graves. Besides, my mission only requires me to persuade him to eat, Malik did not say anything about having to sleep with him," exclaimed Jin. She winced as Yasmin tightened her wrappings a bit too roughly. _

_Yasmin swung her around. Her dark eyes bore fiercely into hers._

"_Mark my words Jinan. Do not take this opportunity lightly. An assassin's life is short and bittersweet. To fall in love with one and actually see him live long enough to marry is near impossible. If you are willing to forge becoming his lover because of some prudish ideology, then you are not the woman I thought you are."_

Jin braces herself. Pushes open the heavy door and enters.

A single golden glow emanates from the desk on the far end of the room. Books, heavy dusty tomes smelling of mold and rolls of manuscripts litter the entire floor. Some even piling up into miniature mountains against the walls.

Sitting at the lone desk, with his back to her, is Altair. He is dressed in his usual assassin garb, and is hunching over some papers. The sounds of a quill pen in a furious scribble in the otherwise quiet room reaches her ears. He is utterly absorbed in his task.

Jin whispers his name. He does not respond.

She walks over. Sets the tray of food and drink down gently.

"Altair," she greets softly.

A slight pause in his writing. That is all that he acknowledge her presence with.

Jin bristles slightly. Closes her eyes and reminds herself to be patient. As her teacher would say, a woman will always have an ever-flowing well of patience, and hers is not even close to being dry.

Altair is mumbling something. She leans in closer to hear.

"Messages in a bottle? Tools left behind to aid and guide us? Or do we fight for control over their refuse, giving divine purpose and meaning to little more than discarded toys?"

His mutterings are nonsensical to her. But now up close, she can see the heavy shadows around his eyes. His face is pale and sunken, a testament to long sleepless nights, not to mention malnutrition. Her heart clenches at the sight.

Determined, she slowly, lightly places her hand on his wrist. Effectively stopping him from writing further. "Altair, you need to get some rest."

He blinks. Sighs heavily. His face slowly turns toward her. Even though he is lacking sleep, his eyes are still alert and observant as he takes in the sight of her.

Jin has her hair down. The blonde locks frame around her face delicately. That one strand resting against her forehead makes him want to reach over and brush it back. She is clothed in a shimmering material that is hugging her curves in a most delicious fashion. Her eyes are lined in kohl, and her cheeks are abloom with coral. Or perhaps that is just her natural color, as he knows she blushes so beautifully.

But it is her mouth that his attention finally rests on. Those soft, rose-like petals slightly apart in a sensual invitation.

He swallows hard. And then refocuses.

His face is empty of emotion, slack and distant as he declares, "Leave me be."

Emerald jade hardens at his dismissal. "No, not until you stop this foolishness. You are over-exerting yourself to death," and remembering Yasmin's advice, Jin smiles encouragingly as she adds, "Please do help yourself to the provisions I have brought."

Glowing amber meets her gaze suspiciously. "Why are you here?"

"Where else would I be? I am here because I am worried about you."

"Why are you not training? Riding horses like a boy?" His derisive tone is evident even though his voice is dry and hoarse from disuse.

Jin starts setting out the plates of bread and soup in front of him. She replies lightly, keeping in mind of their previous argument, "I am temporarily taking a break from those activities. Besides, why would I need to participate in those sorts of activities if I am well-sheltered and protected within the fortress? Please, have a taste of the soup before it gets cold."

"I have no interest in food."

"Then may I offer some other form of distraction?" The flirtatious words are out before she can help it. Jin inwardly cringes. These words are not her own. They are what Yasmin wants to hear, and what other choice does she have but to trust the other girl?

"I have no time for idiotic, insipid women. Get out." His words are harsh. Painful to hear.

Eyes smarting, Jin takes a step back, as if he just physically struck her. He has never taken this voice with her before. And with that glare, he might as well be stabbing her through the heart.

"I am s-sorry. Forgive me," she stutters as she quickly retreats backwards. The moment the door latches behind her, Jin begins to run.

Disappointment burns down her throat, making her eyes blur and her breaths hitch. She stumbles her way through the tunnel, barrels past the questioning faces of Malik and Yasmin. Jin climbs the spiral staircase without a looking back, hoping to escape the humiliation.

_What was I thinking? I am such an idiot!_

Tears are beginning to flow, but she stubbornly blinks them back. Altair's indifferent features and contemptuous voice fills her mind like a nightmare.

She has failed her mission. Altair does not respond to make-up, the fancy clothing, or her sugar-laced words. He does not even find her worth his time.

Jin reaches her room. Wrenches the door from its hinges, slams it shut as she steps into the dark, shadowed room. Finally alone, she lets out a trembling sigh, burying her face in her hands.

Unexpectedly, a weight pushes her backward. Her back meets the hard resistance of the door. Jin gasps. Looks up, and sees a pair of gold peering down at her.

"Altair?" she whispers unbelievingly. He does not answer.

Instead, his lips met hers in an impulsive rush. He drinks from her like a man dying of thirst, and after what seems like eternity, he finally releases her for air.

"Malik, that bastard. He sent you down to distract me," he hisses against the soft underside of her chin, "Well, he succeeded. My concentration is all but shattered."

Strong hands lift her off the ground. Jin instinctively clutches his shoulders. Hard, unyielding muscles press into her body and hold her in place against the door. One of his hand supports her at the underside of her thigh. Gripping, and yet kneading the flesh sensually at the same time.

She dares not to open her eyes for fear of waking up. Because this might be a dream.

"Kiss me again," he raggedly demands. Jin shyly presses her lips against his. Savors the saltiness of his taste, and the velvet texture of his mouth. A feral growl escapes his throat.

He deepens the kiss. With his free hand, he angles her face so that he can have more of her. More of her lips, her taste, and her smell. That faint fragrance of jasmine.

His hip slowly grinds against her. She welcomes it. A salient hardness is pressing insistently into her stomach, but she is beyond caring. This is what she wants. Ever since that incident in Jerusalem. Maybe even before then.

She moans against his mouth. "Please…"

"Please what?" he murmurs against her swollen lips. Each syllable an agonizing caress.

"Do not stop."

Altair smirks. Licks her lips leisurely. "Do you realize what will happen if we do not?"

For a moment, her green eyes gain clarity. Virgin shyness and uncertainty dance together, with just a hint of fear. He can see her thoughts playing behind those forest green depths, and when she comes to her resolute decision, he knows it too.

Without a word, he lifts, and carries her effortlessly across the room. He follows her down onto the bed.

"Um… Altair?"

"Hmm?"

"I have really no experience in this area, or rather, field of study…" Jin trails off hesitantly. A corner of his mouth tilts up in a slight smile, and Altair gently replies, "It matters not to me."

His lips brush lightly against the tip of her chin. Gradually, ever so slowly, it moves down to nip at the skin of her neck. Then the collarbone…

Jin cannot help it. She wriggles away a little so she can continue.

"And… and I am sorry. For those hurtful words I said in ang-" His lips silences her impatiently. His mouth, his hands, even his breathing conveys the message more clearly than any words can: no more talking. Yes, he would much rather hear her lustful moans than rushed apologies.

Jin arches into his touch. Each brush of his hand elicits a response. Every pressure brings an equal reaction from her sensitive body. She hazily recalls him shedding his clothes. She cannot even remember when hers joined his on the floor.

But she definitely registers her bare skin sliding against his. Like silk upon satin. A sensation transcending thought.

Altair is relentlessly moving. Where his hands explore, his mouth inevitably follows. Even his breaths, those warm gasps of air alight her nerves. He is everywhere. Surrounding her senses.

Her body is pleading for release, and he knows. A slanting smirk is all she gets as a warning before his fingers travel downwards. His fingers deftly part the slick folds. One slender digit inserts itself, and all coherency leaves her.

Jin is surprised it is her own voice, crying out in shuddering moans into the velvet darkness.

He chuckles. Another finger joins its playmate. Together, they begin to create the most delicious, hot friction within her body. She feels pushed, her whole body stringing itself into a tight tension. His thumb at last finds the sensitive swelling, and presses.

Light explodes in her unseeing vision. There is no ground, no ceiling, and no gravity. She is soaring. Beyond the stars and into infinity.

When she floats back to consciousness, she finds Altair watching, a very amused expression on his face.

"So that is the face you show me when you…" he drawls lazily. She gasps indignantly and her cheeks begins to color. She makes an effort to pull away, but he instantly stops her. With one hand, he secures her wrists above her head. The other tilts her chin forward, insisting that she looks at him.

She slowly lifts her gaze. His gaze glows molten amber. His mouth, masculine lines that demands obedience, promises more breath-taking experiences as it languidly forms words.

"Do you trust me?" His voice asks her, a deep cadence within satin shadows.

Never has she seen such an unguarded expression in the assassin's intense features. Jin cannot even begin to comprehend how this is the same man who kills in cold blood, or the emotionally distant person who rejected her a few moments ago.

This is… someone completely different. Altair does not show this face to others. And the thought that she is the only one who sees him like this creates a warmth inside of her.

He does not offer promises. He does not whisper sweet nothings. She still does not know what she means to him. Or how this incident will change them. But he asks just one, simple question, and she has the answer.

Jin finally nods, unable to find her voice at that point. He positions himself between her thighs. In a single, quick thrust, he enters her.

Sharp pain ruptures inside of her. Jin cries out. He quickly covers her mouth with his, almost as if he is trying to take in the hurt. But it does not help. Tears form at the corners, and her body automatically tightens with anguish.

She knew it would hurt. She grew up among brothel girls. But they never elaborated on the needle-sharp sting, or how foreign it will feel.

"Jin…" Altair's voice is soft, but also strained. He controls his ravenous urge to move. Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to sink himself to the hilt in her warm, wet womanhood. To wantonly thrust away in abandon until he goes over the brink.

But one look at her glistening tears puts him in a standstill. He draws back. Altair releases her wrists, and gingerly wipes at the wet trails on her pale skin. His elbows rest on either side of her head, and he avoids putting all his weight on her.

"Sorry. I could not help it…" she smiles shakily through watery eyes. The utter remorse in his face makes her want to hold him and tell him everything will be alright. "Keep going."

He whispers his gratitude in her left ear. Then he patiently begins to coax her body to relax. The rough pads of his hands graze against a breast. The deliberate hand cups the soft mound, applying just the right amount of pressure to make her whimper.

The spreading heat slowly returns. One thumb teasingly circles the hard peak, and when she thinks she cannot take any more of it, he takes her into his mouth.

Jin does not realize it when he starts moving within her. She can only bite down her lower lip against the sensuous duality of pleasure and pain. She is returning to that precipice, the cliff overlooking relief. He is taking her there, with each steady stroke. With each strong beat of his heart. It is such perfect synchronization.

Suddenly, her body clenches. Trembling with the intensity, her second climax crashes down upon her. She keeps her eyes open this time.

So she can see the muscles clench in his jaw. The almost imperceptible movement of the vein at his temple. She feels an overpowering satisfaction that she is the one sending him over.

Altair growls violently, deep in his throat. His head drops to the base of her neck, where he exhales hotly. She can feel teeth, digging into flesh in an effort to anchor himself. Unsure of herself, Jin tentatively holds him, knowing where he went, but at the same time, not knowing how he experiences it.

After a few minutes, his breath gradually evens. He imparts a tender kiss onto the abused skin. Wordlessly, Altair lifts his head to gaze upon her.

He is so close. Silvery moonlight softens the powerful lines of his face, transforming features into awe-inspiring beauty. The elegant bow of his eyebrows. The captivating hook of his nose offset by high cheekbones. The sinful lips, full and satiated from their love-making.

And then his eyes. Oh, heavens those eyes.

An intensely burning amber gaze. Deep and penetrating. Piercing through her. Not unlike the first time they met, and now he knows her, imprinted himself on her, both inside and out.

* * *

Notes:

1) First off, apologies for being late. I do usually update monthly, but so many factors prevented me from updating sooner. Laptop taken away for repairs, but thankfully I have the chapter on backup. I work on it in the late hours of the night b/c I use beta's laptop and have to wait till she goes to sleep. That and I just wrote my first lemon. _ Cannot avoid it. Totally set myself up, and as beta commented, "Your readers will kill you if you don't". Sighhh...

2) So there is a (somewhat serious) time in every writer's life, where a momentous milestone is reached that solidifies his/her accomplishments in literature. That, for me, is when I received fanart for a fanfic. Yeah, you heard me right.

Thanks so much to Tymethia! Whose wonderful depiction (doodle actually) of Jin that had me squealing: .com/art/Jin-Portrait-149260501 (Or just type in Jin with Assassin's Creed at deviantART and it's the first one to show! xD)

3) That section of Altair taming a horse interlaced with Jin's training montage is my way of metaphorically exploring the complex inner workings of gender roles in the Middle Ages. In other words, I had writer's block. But does anyone else think it was so cliche to use "how he handles a horse is how he handles women?" lawls.

I'm not sure of the correct usage of "Habibi". It's supposedly an endearment of 'beloved' that can be used for lovers or friends? I'm not sure?

4) Finished ACII. Disappointed in the ending and the sci-fi turn of events, but w/e. I'm just now looking for any sad excuse to travel to Italy and see the magnificent buildings I (meaning Ezio) climbed. But I will try to keep everything in line with the Codex pages. Apparently, Altair knew his parents, so I fixed Ch 8 accordingly. He was actually mumbling about contents of the Codex page 5 before Jin interrupts his "concentration".

5) And no, I don't know how he managed to beat her to the room. It must have been some pretty intense climbing. Something similar to that ^%#& of a climb in the tower scene when you can't grab that lamp post.

Beta's request for a funny omake we envisioned while brainstorming that scene:

_Jin reaches her room. Wrenches the door from its hinges, slams it shut as she steps into the dark, shadowed room. _

_A movement catches her eye. With a gasp, she takes in the form of a naked man, lying prostrate upon the bed. _

_"Altair?" she whispers in surprise. _

_"Jin, I need you to remain calm. Trust me, I am a professional," his eyes pointedly gesture to the sole pillow covering his unmentionables, "Beneath this pillow, lies the key to my release. I need you to-" _

_She does not even wait for him to finish. The door slams in utter disgust, as she storms out of the room for good. _

Kudos for anyone who picks up that reference.


	13. Chapter 13

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Chapter 13

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She cannot believe it. Theirs is not an organization to resort to dank tunnels and moldy basements for meetings. No, their men belong in grand halls. High, marble arches inlaid with jewels and gold, with plush carpet and redwood tables with padded chairs.

Not scrabbling around like rats in a sewer.

Maria wrinkles her nose from the stench. Her leather boot slips on a patch of putrid slime, and she almost loses her footing. The hooded guide at her left does not even so much as bat an eye at her un-ladylike swearing.

"Milady, we are here," her guide solemnly ushers her in through a half-rotted door.

Her icy blue gaze sweeps the room at a glance. One table. Two chairs. One empty for her. And in the other, sits the current leader of the Knights Templar: Gilbert Horal.

"Maria Thrope, we meet again. I am glad that my sources were wrong and that you are still alive and well," he greets her as he stands up and bows. The perfect gentleman in so many ways.

She sneers. Refuses the hand he is holding out.

This is one old, crafty snake. Gilbert Horal might not be the bravest warrior. Or the strongest. People cannot pick him out easily from the crowd. But he is one sly bastard. If he can avoid it, he almost never faces an opponent straight on. He uses coaxing words and the deft exchange of information to get his way. And he _always_ gets his way.

"Where is he?" She demands with no pleasantries.

The older man sighs. He gestures for her to sit, but stubbornly, she remains standing, glaring daggers into him.

"Robert- that is his name am I correct?- Is currently under my custody. He is the sole heir to De Sable's estates. Maybe you did not hear, but the plague wiped out the last member of his half of the family. Your son, at the age of two, is already the rightful owner of a mansion, the acres of land around it, three horses, and the family dog."

Maria unconsciously takes a step back. She does not like the direction of the conversation.

The Knight watches her carefully, and continues, "It is my personal belief that a child should be raised up in a nurturing environment. He will be responsible for many lives and has great potential in the future. Here, in France, he will receive the proper education and training in social etiquette. What were you planning for him in Acre? Sword-fighting and horseplay? Realize that if young Robert grows up there, he will undoubtedly have a hard and short life. Greater things await the child of the late Robert de Sable here."

He walks over. Places a hand on her shoulder in a paternal manner. She wants to slap it away.

"Please Maria. I hope you can see my reasoning on this matter."

"You will not return him to me," she hisses. It is not a question, because the answer is already out in the open. Gilbert shakes his head firmly.

She is no fool. This is not some altruistic generosity. He mostly likely is after the handsome inheritance a Sable is privileged to. Or perhaps he wants to raise her baby as her own. It is common knowledge that he is lacking a heir, as his now aging wife will not provide him with children.

Fists shaking with barely contained rage, Maria bites out, "I want to see him one last time. You cannot refuse me this as his rightful mother."

The elder shrugs ruefully. A motion to the guard standing by the door, and he leans forward to murmur something ineligible in the other man's ear. The guard nods slightly, and Gilbert turns to address her.

"You may. I must warn you though, do not make rash decisions. My personal guard will escort you to the mansion and will be at your side every second. Good day, Maria, we are done here."

She scoffs. Does not bow in departure, and leaves the desolate room, cape swishing angrily behind her.

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She is dreaming while awake. And living a dream at night.

She goes through the motions of routine. The days pass by in a daze. The faces passing by a blur.

It is only at night, when he appears by her window, that her senses awaken.

_He is like a drug_, she muses one day while lying under her favorite tree, _one that is addicting and yearned for._

"Ah, finally found you! Think you can hide your secrets from me do you?" A high-pitched voice pipes up close to her ear. Jin yelps in fright.

"Yasmin! You scared me!"

"Peace, Habibi," the grinning girl jumps up from behind the tree trunk and plops herself besides Jin, "We are alone here. I must hear of what happened that night, and the three nights following that one since you refused to come visit me." The conspiratorial glint in her dark eyes is making Jin slightly uncomfortable.

When moments pass in silence, Yasmin nudges her insistently with a shoulder.

"Did you lie with him?" Rather then replying, Jin gives the barest of nods, and smiles shyly.

"Ah you lucky girl! Was he good to you? Did he pleasure you as you did him?"

Jin blushes beet red as she nods again. She pulls down a section of her scarf, and shows her the healing bite mark from the first night. Yasmin squeals in delight.

"He has even marked you as his own! Oh my dear student," she gathers up Jin's hands in her own and declares, "You make your teacher proud!"

Yasmin's exuberance is infectious, and Jin finally lets out a giggle. She brings her hands to her lips and imparts a light kiss upon Yasmin's darker skin.

"Thank you."

Yasmin's face softens at her genuine admission. She returns the gesture with a kiss of her own. "You are most welcome. And I think this is the proper time to impart my last words of advice as a mentor. Listen well." A somber mood suddenly sets in.

"You must never, never fall in love with a man unless he has given his heart completely to you. To pine after an unrequited love is both suffering and foolish. This is a man's world, Jin, and we must protect ourselves," Yasmin speaks lowly, with her unsmiling gaze holding hers.

Jin's smile immediately vanishes. She pulls her hands away quietly, and looks down at the grass dejectedly.

"I… do not know if I can do that," she admits finally.

Yasmin smiles sadly. She kisses Jin's forehead gently, murmuring, "Poor girl. I never said it would be easy."

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He can see her. So vividly.

Her eyes are closed in eternal sleep, an expression of excruciating pain and anguish frozen in her pale rigid features. Her hair is plastered to her face, wet with… blood. The crimson flows still. Taunting, mocking him for being just a few seconds too late.

He falls to his knees. Gathers her still form in his arms. Calls out her name. Many many times. Her skin is still warm, but the spark of life is already extinguished. He buries his face in her long tresses, and for the first time sheds tears for the death of a loved one.

Blood boils in his veins. A furious pounding in his head. Rage, in scarlet red, spreads across his vision and his blade claims one life after another.

But it does not change a thing. Adha, pure and sweet Adha who he has known since childhood, is dead. Gone.

Altair opens his eyes. His breaths comes in heavy and fast.

The nightmare is not new. But the pair of bright, green eyes, peering down at him with worry is.

Jin, with her hair mussed, completely naked, and glowing in dawn's rose-colored rays, asks him quietly, "Bad dream?"

He finally finds his voice. "Yes. But I had it many times before."

"You called for her again. Adha," Jin shifts her gaze uneasily, "I know it is none of my business, but you sound so-" He cuts her off with a kiss. Breathes in her scent, touching her face, and holding her close to assure himself that she is real. She is alive, and here with him.

When he is finally able to recollect his composure, Altair explains softly in her ear, "Adha was my first love. I have always thought I would lay down my sword for her. Settle down and have a family. But she was taken from me, and when I finally caught up with her captors, sacrificed like a matyr for the greedy needs of men. Her death, my incompetence, haunts me still. I have failed my duty and failed her," he finishes thickly.

Jin is speechless. This is a rare vulnerable side of him she does not see often. During that incident in Jerusalem he was physically ill and delirious with fever. He has all his wits about him now.

To confide in her his insecurities, his fears is striking. She has his complete and utter trust. And although he never says three words she needs to hear the most, this admission is enough.

She strokes his short-cropped hair soothingly. Holds him tenderly and lets her resounding heartbeats, synchronized with his, comfort him.

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"Do not fall in love with her."

Altair looks up sharply. Malik's intense, critical gaze is leveled at him. He is in the main library, looking up the history of India and its trade routes when his friend suddenly appears by his side.

"Safety and peace to you too my friend," Altair replies back lightly.

"I am serious."

Altair's expression turns grave. "I know you are. And I can assure you I do not plan on it. I, of all people, knows what can happen . I do not plan to have another repeat of last time."

Malik regards him carefully. "Then what will you do? Have your fill and toss her away like a discarded toy?" His eyes harden into obsidian.

"You sound like a lecturing father. First you disapprove of her, then you will not let me leave her. Pray tell, what will you have me do?" Altair snaps back. Malik stiffens at his words.

The assassin exhales slowly. "Forgive me. I do not mean what I say."

Malik lays a hand on his shoulder. "I am only looking out for your best interest. I do not want to see you…When you lost Adha, we thought we had lost you too."

Altair snaps the book in his hand shut. Dust from the wizened text scatters in the dim sunlight, obscuring the other man's vision.

He mutters under his breath, in a rueful voice, more to himself than to Malik, "So did I."

Jin, with her arms full of maps and scrolls from her earlier lessons, slows down as she hears familiar voices. One is the serious, sharpness of Malik's. And the other the deep, rich timbre which only belongs to Altair. From the tones, both are in earnest, deep conversation.

She does not think it wise or polite to eavesdrop, and was turning to leave when she hears her name. She pauses mid-step. Curiosity finally wins and she quietly takes cover in a nearby bookshelf and crouches low.

"You plan to keep Jin within the walls of Masyaf her whole life?" Malik inquires.

Altair replies stonily, "She knew what it meant to follow me here. She is well-provided for and sheltered from harm. Letting her outside would be a security issue."

"Altair, she is but a child, with plenty of possibilities in front of her. You will not marry her but yet will not let her go. Where is the fairness in that?"

"Her future is with me," he answers firmly. With dead finality. "And when have you cared so much about my charge's well being?"

Silence hangs in heavy tension within the musty library.

Jin bits down on her lip. Her breathing seems too loud, so she covers her nose and mouth with one trembling hand.

"I see it is no use talking about this matter any further," Malik scoffs. He reaches inside his dark robes and takes out a sealed letter. "This came for you by air. I believe you have some explaining to do," Malik pointedly looks at the red wax seal.

A cross patée. The seal of the Templars.

"I am just as curious as you are. I have no dealings with the current Grand Templar that I know of," Altair answers evenly.

He breaks the seal, and quickly reads the letter. In an instant, his expression turns grim.

"What does it say?" Malik asks.

"A friend is in need of assistance. I will make preparations to leave," he replies brusquely.

"A friend," Malik repeats. With angry emphasis on each syllable.

Altair hesitates, and then sighs wearily. "I did not tell you the entire story of what occurred in Cyprus. I did capture one called Maria Thrope, and instead of being my prisoner, she became a valuable comrade of great assistance. I chose to omit that from my report because it would cause complications. To avoid a messy argument such as this one."

"You did not inform me of your relation with a Templar? Consorting with the enemy?" growls Malik. "How can this not be an issue of security?"

"I believe in her integrity and good character. She is of the same situation. Should word spread through her organization of her temporary alliance with me, it will be disastrous."

"That does not mean she cannot lay out a trap for you and the rest of the Brotherhood. How can we know she can be trusted?"

"I just… know." Altair, for the first time, averts his gaze from his elder. The answer lays out in the open, unspoken, but as clear as crystal.

Malik is livid. He sharply grabs the front of Altair's robes. Although he is a good three inches shorter, his ferocity makes him equally menacing.

"You slept with her! Is that the basis in which you make the claim of trust?" He roars into the assassin's face. His shouted words bounce off the walls, dealing unseen damage.

"I offer no excuses. I will take responsibility for my actions," Altair replies stiffly. "Either way, I will ride for Acre. If I deem her a threat to the Brotherhood, I will take her life myself."

Malik roughly shoves him away. Turns his back to him.

"I cannot let you leave. Your judgment is clouded and your actions will compromise the Brotherhood."

"Malik, heed my words please. She is our link to the inner circle of the Templars. She can be a useful tool in bringing down their organization. It is important to remain on good terms," Altair argues.

"If you mean by good terms to jump in her bed, then I would say you are doing an excellent job of that," Malik scathingly remarks. "Forget it. I would rather have us take down our enemies without taking such unnecessary risks. You are to remain here."

"You have no authority to issue that order," Altair quietly says. There's a dangerous undertone to his words, and Malik digests it with apprehension.

"No. No, I do not. But reflect upon my words. Reflect on who's best interest is your priority before coming to a decision. You are responsible for every single life within Masyaf, reflect upon that." The older Dai closes his eyes with a sigh.

"I will. You have my word, as both a comrade and a friend," Altair promises as he takes his leave.

His angry strides slow down as he nears the east entrance. He stops next to a bookshelf. Not turning his head but instead looking straight ahead, he asks coolly, "Just how much did you hear?"

Jin, who has stayed perfectly silent up to that point, can only look up at him disparagingly. Her eyes are red, but dry. And she cannot bring herself to answer him.

So she rises from her position. The scrolls and papers lie forgotten on the ground. She rushes past him, tearing through the empty stone halls until the sounds of her rapid footsteps can no longer be heard.

He does not stop her. Or give chase. It was pointless to do so.

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She was not in her room that night. Altair searches through the many rooms and halls of the fortress, but Jin cannot be found.

Finally, a novice points him in the direction of the meadow. Behind the Garden and at a lone tree in the distance.

He finds her at the base of the tree, curling up on her side and eyes shut.

"Leave me be," she orders hoarsely as he draws closer.

"I cannot. Come inside, you will get sick sleeping here," Altair admonishes lightly. He kneels down in front of her. Reaches for her hand tentatively.

He sees her intention before she does. The hand which shoots out in resenting fury. He does not flinch as it makes hard contact with his face. He does not show pain when it leaves a hand print across his left cheek.

But his chest does tightens at the sight of her tearful face. The trembling lower lip, and eyes puffy from too much crying.

He captures the offending hand in his own. "Enough."

It does pain him to see Jin shrink from his touch. She struggles for a moment, but soon gives up. Exhaustion is written all over her features, along with anger and anguish.

"Leave me," she whispers brokenly. For the briefest second, fear slices through him. Is her fighting spirit gone? Has he hurt her beyond repair?

He knows not of the right words to say to her. But hopes that logic and reason will prevail in the end.

"Jin, I did not and cannot promise you anything. I already gave you word that I will see to your safety and provide for you. You are my responsibility and I accept that. But I am bound by duty and obligations to many others. Do you understand?" He calmly asks.

She does not meet his gaze, and nods.

"The situation with Maria is complicated. I did not want anyone, especially you and Malik involved for selfish reasons. For that, I do sincerely apologize. With that said-"

"Just what am I to you?" Jin interrupts him abruptly. He stops.

"What do you want to be?" He quietly asks.

She finally lifts her emerald eyes to face amber. Within her green gaze he can clearly see the answer: _your everything_.

He chuckles a bit ruefully. "An assassin's not allowed to love. It is a weakness and a burden. I thought your training would have already enlightened you." He carefully brushes a strand of stray hair from her face. "But know this. I cannot stand to see you suffer. I am concerned profoundly for your well-being. And if possible, I will risk my life for yours."

Jin sighs. Her anger already dissipating with his apologetic words.

"You will not stay," she confirms. He takes the hand he is holding and kisses the inside of her delicate wrists, and then shakes his head.

"But you will come back." It is more of a statement than an inquiry.

"Yes."

She leans into his touch. The unspoken understanding passes effortlessly through the two. Jin cannot remember falling asleep, or of him holding her in his strong arms. But she awakes to the sunlight pouring through the window in her bed. Alone.

He is gone.

* * *

Notes: Somewhat short chapter this time. Running into major writer's block, and all of a sudden the writing muse strikes and 80% of this chapter was written in one night. Straight to 3am. Yes, I stirred up drama between our couple, but the s^& is going to hit the fan eventually. xP

1) Good job to everyone who got the Sherlock Holmes reference. Went back and fixed some spelling mistakes, but I'm sure more will turn up.

2) I sometimes go back and read my older chapters. I notice there were more descriptions and fancier prose than what I have now. I miss that, but I guess a faster pace of action kind of demands trade-offs.

3) I love writing Malik. More fun with him next chapter... :D

4) Some ages right now:

Almost 3 years since Jin met Altair. Which makes her around 18+3= 21 years old?

Almost 2 years since Maria had her baby. Assuming she was around 30ish in the beginning of AC I, she is now 32?

Assuming Altair was 25 in beginning of AC I, he is now 28? A good marriageable age...

Who knows how old Malik is? I have no clue... T_T

5) Thanks for the reviews~! I read all of them, and I love people's reactions to various points of the story.


	14. Chapter 14

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Chapter 14

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It is early dawn when he reaches his destination. A chilly wind nips at his partially exposed face, and Altair inhales the sharp, sea-salt air. His vision is filled with blue grey buildings of Acre. The sun never seems to shine on this grey city. The sky overcast, with gulls' lonely cries. Templars, knights in heavy chain mail, parade the streets vigilantly, and Acre's citizens walk about in grave unease.

It is easy blending in with the crowd, past the main gate, and he makes his way towards the Templar's hold. However, halfway there, Altair pauses as he feels the cold press of a blade handle against his back.

"You let your guard down. Must be getting rusty?" A soft voice murmurs from behind.

"Maria," he breathes. Altair does not dare to turn. He can feel her nearness. The gentle breath besides his ear. A soft touch at his elbow. She is that close, and he wonders why he did not sense her.

"How did you-?" Altair slowly turns, only to find her weaving through the crowds, her cape fluttering by.

_So that is the game you want to play? _

He follows her footsteps seamlessly. Like a panther stalking its prey. Over tiled rooftops and bypassing sleepy guards.

She leads him to a dark and abandoned alley. Where she pulls him close and seals her lips over his.

"I have missed you," she gasps out between kisses. Her hands explore the familiar muscular contours. His neck, his broad shoulders, and his unyielding chest.

Altair reluctantly pulls away after a few seconds. "You did not call me here for this."

Maria chuckles. Her husky voice sends chills up his spine, and he almost does not mind.

"No, but am I not allowed to greet my guest?"

"If that is so, it is a wonder why you do not have more guests," Altair replies back playfully. He purposely keeps his hands on her elbows, ready to hold back her advances but yet at the same time not discouraging. "Perhaps it is because of your detached farewells?"

She has the decency to look guilty. Maria releases him, leans back and answers softly, "I do not like saying good byes. And I was… confused." He stays silent. Waiting for more explanations, but she gives none.

"You wanted assistance?" Altair gently reminds her.

She glances up at him curiously for a few seconds. Most men do not mind playing first and then moving onto business. But Altair is not an ordinary man. His inhuman sense of self control gives her a bittersweet aftertaste of envy.

"The current Grand Templar, Gilbert Horal, has taken someone precious from me. I want him back, but I cannot hope to infiltrate the Templar base over there by myself."

"He took a hostage? To where?"

She takes a deep breath. "France."

His eyes narrow. "You want me to travel to France? The entire voyage itself will almost last half a year."

Maria looks up at him beseechingly. "This is more than just a personal favor. Gilbert also transported all the remains of the Templar Archives to Europe. The answers to your questions regarding the Piece of Eden and the truth, lies there."

Malik's words float up. _She may be leading you into a trap…_

But Altair can see her earnestness. It shines off of her, in light waves of blue. There's a desperate edge to her voice, a silent plea in her eyes. He finds himself conceding.

"Very well. But before that, can you tell me anything about this?" He takes a necklace out of his bag.

Maria takes it carefully and examines it carefully. The chain is of fine metal and light, but it is the tiny ornament which hangs off of it that interests her. Although it is tarnished and misshapen, she can still make out the elaborate insignia on the gold medallion.

"A family seal, but not one I am familiar with. I can ask my friends about it. May I ask what or who is it for?"

Altair hesitates. For a rare moment of his life, he finds himself tongue-tied.

_Exactly what is she to me?_

"A close friend," he finally manages, and detests the sour taste the words are leaving behind.

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_Greetings Brother,_

_It is within my responsibility to inform you of my expected absence. There seems to be matters in Europe, more specifically the country France, that requires further investigation. Unfortunately, this will prolong my return indeterminately. I shall find a means to secure a method of correspondence when I arrive._

_During my traveling days onboard a ship, I have been gazing into the Apple. There are many secrets and flashes of future within its golden core. I must disclose more of what I have learned later. The future of the Brotherhood may be greatly affected._

_-A_

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"Safety and peace, Master Shafiq. Tell me, what brings you to seek an audience with me?" Malik politely welcomes the white-haired man.

"Master, it is with great misgivings that I ask you to discontinue your patronage of Jinan's activities," the elder declares with a resigned expression, "She continues to train and work until her body is utterly exhausted. She will not eat, or sleep. This is the third time that one of my apprentices found her unconscious in the hallways. I have always looked upon her kindly and regarded her as if she was my own, so for her safety and health, I beseech you."

"I see," Malik calmly says, narrowing his eyes until they are slits, "And where is she now?"

"In the infirmary, recovering from her recent fainting spell."

"I shall do what I can. You may go." Malik turns and massages the bridge of his nose delicately.

_Why is one slip of a girl so much trouble? _He muses exasperatedly to himself as he descends the stairs and heads towards the infirmary. The guards bow their heads in reverence. He passes by them slowly, knowing their names by face.

Inside, there lay many cots. Some with injured inmates. Some not. Only empty because the previous inmate is no longer alive, and not for a lack of patients. There is never a shortage.

Jin lays in one of the cots furthest down. She has white curtains closing her off from the other wards, most likely in consideration of her gender.

Malik draws closer to her bed. He notes her sunken eyes, her hollow cheeks, and her ghost-like coloring with growing disquiet. His hand slowly reaches over to wake her, but he stops himself at the last second. Scowling, he withdraws the traitorous hand.

"Jin."

She stirs slightly. Malik calls her name again, more sternly. Slowly, her viridian eyes flutter open. He does not like the dim, glazed look in her gaze before they slowly focus on him. Not one bit.

"Hm?"

"Stop it," he orders. She tilts her head up to regard him with puzzlement in her face.

"Stop acting like a petulant child."

"I do not-"

"You know very well what I mean."

He levels his stern glare at the girl. Her eyes leave his face. They drift to gaze at the white, hanging curtains.

"He is not coming back," she whispers, more to herself than to the man in front of her.

The line of his mouth thins. It has been two months since Altair's departure. There has been no letter or word from him.

Malik swallows the curt words he has ready at the tip of his tongue. No, taunts and biting remarks are not going to be effective here. With a rare inflection in his voice, Malik softly replies, "I do not doubt his abilities or commitment to the Brotherhood. He will return. But what good will come to him if you are wasting away and in poor health?"

"I am so …tired, Malik." His name comes from her mouth so casually. Without honorifics or titles. But the way she pronounces it strikes a sensitive chord within him that is unfortunately lost upon her.

"We all are. Life is a constant struggle," he affirms with a slight nod of his head.

A small chuckle from Jin. A dapple of color in her cheeks, and he finds himself unable to tear away from her captivating face.

"Look at you now. Pathetic. What happened to the girl that hassled me and asked me for training? Who spars in the ring with men twice her size? Who quarrels at the slightest provocation?"

"You are being awfully nice today," Jin teases, retreating back to familiar banter.

"I only make the effort for an emergency."

A raised eyebrow. "And I suppose me fainting constitutes as an emergency? My, my…"

"Only if your carcass is blocking the hallways."

She laughs. Or tries to, but what actually comes out is a dry, hacking cough. He desperately to punch a wall. Or perhaps, a certain assassin.

"I thought you forge your own paths in life. Or have you forgotten how to? Are you forsaking your Novice status and giving up the chance to earn your blade? You are disappointing me."

"I am trying to," she mumbles, "I still go to training…"

"And your half-hearted efforts will only get you killed. Do not take the Brotherhood lightly. I will have you bound and force-fed until you regain your senses," he retorts.

"Fine. I give up. I suppose I have to rejoin the world of the living," Jin smiles crookedly.

Food immediately appears in her line of vision. A bowl of steaming stew and a loaf of wheat bread. Her stomach immediately growls its agreement.

"Good," Malik says, "Then I shall see you there."

A slight twitch in a corner of his lips. The only tell tale sign that he almost smiled.

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_To my dear friend and Brother,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health and condition. This courier is trustworthy and reliable for such long distance communication, so I hope you will respond and maintain correspondence._

_The new Grand Templar is Gilbert Horal. He is not a war-seeking brute, but neither is he a peace-loving saint. The treasures within Limassol was moved into France, to a location in which I must now go find._

_He has taken their order into hiding. They are not in the open anymore, and not so easy to kill. With serious contemplation, I suggest we do the same. Instead of public assassinations, we can weave our webs quietly, from the shadows. If our foes cannot find us, then all the better._

_In that regard, I sometimes ask myself, "Why the Creed? Why abide by these rules if the truth is never truly objective?" There are some rituals that I feel can be best left forgotten, and install new ones to replace them. But I must not get ahead of myself. I kindly and humbly request your wisdom and advice on this matter, for I do not know how this sort of change will affect the Brotherhood._

_-A_

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It was not going well. Guards at every corner and nook. Archers ready in their protected towers. Gilbert Horal's estate is has tighter security than King Richard's camp. Not an insect can go by without a guard noticing.

Their plan is simple. He will find a way inside, and she will follow. After infiltrating the mansion, they will go their separate ways. Maria insists that she finds the hostage, while he goes investigate about the whereabouts of the new Templar hold.

He has protested many times. It is obvious the hostage is under heavy guard, and he will be better at dispatching them. In which his female companion stares him down, and punishes him with silent treatment until he gives in.

In order to salvage what is left of his masculine pride, Altair is taking pains to find the efficient route through the walls of guards and archers. His experienced eyes scouts from the forest bordering the west wall, and finally, settling on a low turret with an three open windows.

"There," he whispers, pointing it out to his companion.

Maria gives him an incredulous look. "You expect me to climb that?"

He looks her over. A mischievous grin slowly appearing. "Why not?" And after hearing her describe him with a few choice words, Altair explains, "Just stay undetected and wait for my signal." He takes off before she can protest.

He makes his way, silent as a panther, to the base of the wall. As the patrolling guards turns the corner, he sneaks in behind them. Maria watches with amazement as he begins to effortlessly scales the fortress wall with nobody noticing him.

Before a new round of guards turns the corner, he already dispatches the archers from outside the window ledge. A sturdy rope appears, and she can only assume that is his signal.

Not wanting to be outdone, Maria mimics his earlier actions with extreme precision. Stalking silently, she successfully sneaks behind the guards. Climbing however, is another story. As she struggles to pull her weight over the twenty feet wall she hears the steady march of approaching guards. Panic tightens her throat. Miraculously, at that moment she feels the rope lifting her up effortlessly.

She sniffs at Altair's smug look when she finally climbs through the window. "That was not necessary."

He answers with a teasing smirk. "Of course not."

They parted ways at the end of the hallway. One to the north, where information lies hidden within Gilbert Horal's main study and one to the stairs westward, where a precious someone awaits her.

It does not take neither of them long to find what they are looking for. However, as they meet up in their agreed rendezvous, the assassin notes Maria returns empty-handed. Her face is tightened with barely suppressed emotion, of which he is not certain if she is angry, distressed, or a mixture of everything. A trickle of blood is dripping from her left temple.

"Are you alright?" he asks urgently as he walks over.

Her answer is tight-lipped and terse. "I am fine. Guards are coming, we should go."

_She finds him, playing in a light-filled garden surrounded by butterflies. It has been at least a year and a half since she has last seen him. He is running on his two feet instead of crawling on fours, and his dark curls are growing long to frame his child-like face. He squeals in delight as a colorful butterfly lands on his shoulder. _

_Maria takes a step closer. He is truly his father's son. The determined set of eyebrows, same shade of hair, and matching bone structure. The only claim she has on him is his eyes. A clear, light cerulean. _

"I should have came with you," he says as he walks towards her.

"No."

_She does not expect him to be unguarded. And he is not. A woman, middle-aged and dressed in a fine gown, watches him with adoring devotion._

_Maria sneers. How picturesque. But at the same time, it makes her job that much easier._

_She draws her sword silently, and steps into the dappled sunlight. The woman turns eventually, and gasps out. Maria wastes no breath, and a spray of red soon erupts from the woman's jugular. _

"We can go back," he gently puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She violently shrugs him off. "No!" Walks past him, braces herself against the rampart. "We need to leave, now."

_As the dying woman collapses upon the grass, young Robert looks up from his play. His sky blue eyes widen at the sight of his caretaker, lying in a growing pool of crimson blood. His gaze then moves up to meet those of Maria's. _

"_Mommy?" he tentatively asks. _

"_Yes, Mommy is here now. I will take you back," Maria bends down on one knee, both arms beckoning to the child._

"What happened." Altair's tone leaves no room for dispute.

"He is gone," she answers simply.

_Young Robert runs past her open arms. Does not even spare her so much as a glance as he runs and trips his way to the bloody corpse. _

"_Mommy!" He asks in growing alarm. He shakes her. Once. Twice. His voice grows shrill. "Mommy come back!"_

_Maria stays frozen on the ground. Looking straight ahead. Her arms now lay limp at her side. _

_She cannot believe it. He has truly forgotten her. She means nothing to him, and of course nobody would have told him who his real mother is. _

_Desperately, she makes his way over to him. Takes his arm and pulls. _

_She does not expect him to resist. To have his hand swing upwards and strike at her face with a rock. The implications of his actions rather than the actual blow, shocks her into immobility. She stays frozen, looking at her own child glare at her with such hatred and loathing on his face. _

_The voices of approaching guards eventually snaps her back to reality. Quickly, she stands, and with one lingering glance at the child, makes her escape. Alone._

"I am sorry for your loss." His tone is genuine. She takes a shuddering breath. Nods in acknowledgement.

_The beautiful picture, ruined and lost to her. _

"Nothing lasts forever. Sometimes… you just need to let go," she softly whispers into the wind.

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_To my idiotic comrade,_

_About time you sent word. I was just about to give the order to dig your grave site._

_It has been a year since your departure. Things are not the same as when you left. There has been changes already made. For example, a woman within the ranks. Your charge is doing exceptionally well, and she herself is aiming to earn the Assassin's blade. In addition, we expanded our networks immensely. No longer confined in our nearby neighbors, we stretch to as far as Eastern Asia. Yes, the Templars may have went into hiding, but I made sure we are still one step ahead of them._

_With that said, what you propose is still too drastic a revolution. I hope you considered the implications of your words. To go into hiding would mean abandoning Masyaf, a stronghold of the Assassins since its conception. This is no trivial matter. But I trust you to have already weighed all the options before coming to that conclusion._

_May fortune favor your blade,_

_-M_

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Sometimes, she finds his office empty. With nobody and just his endless amount of paperwork laying abandoned on the table, Jin cannot help but wander inside. She drifts closer to the maple desk, and peers over.

She finds herself admiring the intricate lines and curves of topography. The strict, sharp handwriting which is so typical of its owner names cities, rivers, and mountains with precise accuracy. Nothing fancy, nothing lacking. Just… exact.

"Does your training entail sneaking into superior's work rooms?" A caustic voice asks behind her.

Jin turns slowly, not letting Malik's glare of death intimidate her. "No, this is a skill I perfected on my own." She offers a smile sheepishly. Malik, of course, remains stone-faced and austere. His dark eyebrows gather in a perpetual scowl, and his onyx gaze studies her cautiously.

She gestures toward the open map. "It is beautiful. Did you draw them all?"

"There is more to maps than just pretty letters and designs," he brusquely brushes off her compliment and makes his way to his desk. Rolls up the map and picks up stray scrolls. All with the dexterity of his sole hand. She watches, fascinated.

"Do not mess with things you do not understand, woman."

"I can read maps," she sniffs sensitively, "and I can tell when good-quality work lay in front of me."

"If that is all you came to do, I shall now ask you to leave. Work awaits. For all of us," he gives her a pointed look.

In a rare gesture of immaturity, Jin sticks out her tongue at him. "I was trying to express my gratitude. For waking me up, in a figurative sense."

"And you can show me your gratitude, by leaving me in peace."

"Your words are harsh. And yet your actions contradict," Jin points out quietly. There is no vanity or conceitedness in her tone, "Your office is always unguarded and you have never used brute strength to coerce me into leaving."

"I do not like to waste men when it is clear that my office is a private space. Will using force make my point clearer?" Malik replies acidly.

She smiles. "Careful now. I have been training daily, if you desire a battle of skills there is no guarantee that you will win. I do not go easy on anyone."

"Even a cripple," Malik finishes her thought, while following her gaze on his missing arm, "And I will not go easy, even if you are a woman. I would say we are on a pretty level playing field."

Jin scoffs. "Proud, male chauvinistic…" she angrily mutters underneath her breath.

"Jin! There you are…" Yasmin's bubbly voice drifts up from the stairs. She is wearing her usual dress of light, shimmering material. Her black hair is loose and flowing, and her eyes are outlined in kohl.

"Oh! Master Malik," she bows sweetly as she catches sight of him, "Please excuse my interruption. I was looking for Jinan; she is late for her morning lessons."

Jin sees the sudden twitch of annoyance on his face, before he quickly reverts back to his usual expression. Malik turns to look out the window, his back silently dismissing them.

Yasmin drags her out by the arm. When they are out of overhearing range, Yasmin jerks her closer and hisses under her breath, "Why must you always pick a fight with him? Have I taught you nothing?" Jin looks at her in surprise.

"You heard it all?" she whispers back.

"Of course! Like a rooster, the sounds of you two arguing awake us each morning."

"Surely you jest," Jin dryly replies. Yasmin halts. Jin also stops.

"I assure you, I am not. If you like him, then why must you trade harsh words?"

Jin sputters, "I do not!" Realizing how loud she is in the hallway and people are starting to stare, Jin quickly ducks her head and continues fervently, "If you have been listening from the beginning, you can hear that he was the one who started it. I was merely trying to thank him for his kindness."

Yasmin sighs. Shakes her head resignedly.

"Looks like you still have some ways to go, Habibi."

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_To my dear concerned friend,_

_I am glad you are eagerly awaiting my return. Guess I will be saving you the expense of paying for my funeral._

_I am grateful for all that you have done. For me and the Brotherhood. I know it was you who once said we share our glories in victory as well as defeat, but I cannot take credit for your hard-earned labor and efforts._

_Even though I am not there in person, there are some knowledge the Apple imparted to me that I hope may impart: Our main weapon, the hidden blade, can be altered to suit many different situations. For example, the gauntlet can be metal-plated to deflect blows easier. Poison can be stored in a compartment and injected when necessary. But most importantly, the loss of a ring finger can be prevented._

_Attached is a tentative blueprint of a modified hidden blade. Note how we only have to change a few things in the basic structure, and it will be moderately easy to have one blade on each hand. However, to give an individual that much power is another matter._

_On a side note, what have you been feeding my courier? He has been getting plumper each return._

_Until next time,_

_-A_

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_To the everlasting wanderer,_

_It does not escape me that you send that sort of design before a certain someone earns their blade the traditional way. (She will still have many years to go) But I digress, it shall be as you say. Instead of giving up a finger, new Assassins will be branded with our crest on their ring digit._

_The revised design was tried out recently and it was a success. How unfortunate that you only manage to catch a glimpse of these useful techniques now and not those days when you locked yourself in the basement… Or perhaps you were too distracted to remember clearly._

_And your "courier" is being pampered as I write. Do blame your charge for over-feeding him with grains. He might get too heavy to lift himself off the ground one day._

_Waiting so very eagerly for your return,_

_-M_

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_My humorous comrade,_

_Your subtle charms are lost upon me. But I do see my absence has affected you greatly. Do us all a favor and find a woman to banter and tease with._

_-A_

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His sense of balance is impeccable.

It makes sense, Jin reasons, for the lack of the other arm must have forced him to fine-tune and adjust. She goes in for another attack, this time swing at low midsection instead of the shoulder.

Malik takes a side step, turning in an agile manner, just the necessary amount to avoid her sword. Shifts footing. Slides in from her open side. Twists and swings.

"Hit," he announces as the backside of his hand makes contact with her shoulder blades.

"Damn it to hell!" Jin curses as she throws down the practice sword. "I have not landed a single hit on you!"

Malik raises one single dark eyebrow to regard her. "And what does that prove? I have had years of training and experience. Does this mean you will be giving up?"

"I will not be goaded like that," she growls. Jin picks up her sword and settles into a ready stance. Malik smirks to himself briefly.

_She still gets herself worked up anyways._

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_Dear Brother,_

_It has been another year since I last heard from you. I wonder, is this no longer a viable means of correspondence?_

_-M_

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Sometimes, he wonders if he is color blind.

He has heard of the defect before. When men cannot distinguish between green and red, blue with orange, and the colors all become a blur to them.

So when he wakes up one morning and sees blonde instead of chestnut brown, forest green instead of sky blue, he wonders.

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_To my dear Brother,_

_I apologize. Circumstances prevented me from corresponding regularly. Perhaps our little plump messenger got side-tracked by tasty morsels on the way._

_I have explored foreign lands and is now en route to India. My findings in regards to the Vault in France will have to wait until we may speak in person._

_Attached is a formula for a hybrid metal. It is something I glimpsed in the Apple again. A strange and new technology which has not been discovered yet. Please use it with discretion._

_-A_

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"I have never seen Lady Zahrah in person. Yasmin, why is that?"

"Oh, her chambers are located on the top floor of the west wing. She hardly needs to make appearances. Food and everything is sent up for her."

"Is she too old to come down from her high tower?"

"Hush! Never let anyone hear you say that! Our Lady's beauty transcends those of mortals and she is rumored to be a favored concubine. Unfortunately, she fell in love with a servant and they eloped. She hides here because this is the only place where the sultan's army cannot hope to reach."

"You do not say…"

"Oh I know that look. You are dying of curiosity are you not?"

"Well I only wish to gaze upon her so famed beauty myself…"

"Not a good idea. Your existence should be as quiet as possible. She knows of you, but since you are Altair's woman, she cannot hope to touch you."

"…"

"Please Jin, do not give me that face. Why is it every time his name is uttered you look like death?"

"I-I rather not talk about it."

"A heart should be able to forget with time. Do not keep the old wounds and let them fester. It is bad for your health."

A heavy sigh. "Yasmin, if I only could, I would have already."

"Jin… I will be leaving soon. On my first official mission."

"Where to?"

"Acre. I am to be married."

"To whom? When did you fall in love? Will you come back?"

A tinkling laugh. "Who says I am in love? This is purely business. I am to spy on my husband and report his activities to the Rafiq stationed there. It is the will of my Lady and the Brotherhood. And no, I do not think I will come back for quite a time. That is why… I will be less worried if you can take better care of yourself."

"I am. I eat three times a day, exercise daily, my monthly is reg-"

"Not that. With the matters of your heart."

"I will try. You leaving does not help matters."

"Do not fret. Friendship is not defined by distance, but the strength and durability of the bond. Remember that."

"… I will miss you."

"As will I, Habibi, as will I."

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Twilight settles quietly within Masyaf. The setting sun already hidden behind the horizon and the birds are roosting for the night.

Yasmin rises from her bath of rose water and dresses herself in evening wear. Her hair hangs off in loose, damp waves and she decides tonight she does not want to line her eyes or put rouge on her lips. She examines herself in the mirror. Her youthful, smooth face smiles back at her cheerfully.

As she descends the stone stairs in her satin slippers, she sees a familiar figure by the open window.

"Good evening, Master Malik," she greets in a soft voice. He turns and acknowledges her with a nod. She joins him by the sill. Follows his gaze. To the far tree in the small meadow in the back. Where a girl sits by herself quietly at the base of the trunk.

"She is always there. Mourning for a man who is still alive." He says nothing in return. The brooding look is etched firm and deep in his face. "But I wonder, will there be someone else who can take her mind off of her unnecessary depression. Lets say… a certain map-making scholar?" Yasmin coyly asks with a suggestive tilt of her head.

"You are to leave tomorrow for Acre. Are you nervous?" Malik shifts his gaze to watch her. Effectively ending that path of conversation.

"No. I suppose not. I am honored to fulfill my duty."

"You sound like a matyr at the gallows."

A faint hint of sadness in her smile. "Perhaps. If Kaddar was still alive, I would have different sentiments."

He bows his head. "I am sorry. I forget that his passing has affected many, and not just those in the Assassin's ranks."

Yasmin turns. Leans against the sill with her elbows. She turns her face to the wind, so he may not see the unshed tears. "He died with honor and was true to what he believed. In my own way, that too, is what I hope to achieve."

"I wish you success then. Safety and peace."

He leaves discretely. Pretending he did not see the wetness of her cheeks. Or the emptiness of her soul.

* * *

Notes: Really sorry about lack of updates. Life is crazy, I am to travel and work this entire summer, so no guarantees on anything!

1) I find it interesting how everyone hates Maria. I tried to make her seem as real and human as possible. She's just a tough woman who hides her weaknesses well and knows a bit more of what she wants. Never really intended for her to be portrayed "evil". I guess I should be flattered how everyone sides with Jin. :D

2) I researched on how many nautical miles it is from Syria to France, how fast ships traveled back then, and still came up with something close to 1 month. That, and I added land travel time, how maybe the ship will be making many pit stops to trading posts along the way. I was hoping it would take much longer... like a yearround trip.

3) Altair's letters should lead up to page 13 of codex.

4) Garden concept, once again, borrowed from callalili's _Bitter Leaves and Blossom's Bright_. Go read it!

5) I'm embarrassed to say, but I actually have a real-life person I base Altair off of. Not so much as personality, but my situation is somewhat similar to that of Jin and Altair's. If anything, I hope that my frustration and misery in not seeing him reflects that in writing. And that is probably why it's so depressing right now. Haha (And no, we're not dating, I have no idea where I stand with him. Another similarity.)


	15. Chapter 15

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Chapter 15

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"_What about this one?" She carefully traces a pale line of healed flesh from his shoulder to his collarbone, "How did it happen?" The sunlight warms her back deliciously. It was one of those rare days where he does not need to leave in the early morn to train, and the rosy glow of the sun shines on their bare bodies as they lay side by side on the bed. _

"_Wound from a European sword. My first ever meeting with Robert De Sable. He escaped with almost no scratch."_

"_And this one?" Her gentle touch circles lazily around a scar at the base of his neck. _

"_From a sparring match with Malik. We were both young and too proud to admit defeat." Altair chuckles at the fond memory. His deep laughter sends tiny tremors through her body. _

_Her hand travels upwards, and settles on the familiar vertical line adorning his strong jaw line. "This one?"_

_He pauses for a minute. "From the battle in Alep. When I lost Adha."_

_She pauses in her intimate exploration. Her clear green eyes go up to meet with his. "Do you miss her?"_

"_Yes… and no. Her place in here cannot ever be replaced. But the wound is healed."_

_Jin smiles at his sincerity. Her gaze traverse across his nakedness unabashedly, a faint morning glow at her cheeks. The pale flesh line at his side, free of scarring, catches her attention. He follows her gaze. _

"_And that… is kismet." When she looks back at him with incomprehension, Altair gently cups her chin and explains, "You do not remember? You dressed this wound. This is what led me to fall into your room that night. Destiny." _

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_

She finds herself bored. Hands idle and mind despairingly awake. Now that Yasmin is gone, her evenings are free.

And her horse can only run so far before she gets tired. There are only so many who are willing to spar with her. And there is only so much she can do to help in the infirmary.

Jin finds herself with too much free time. She cannot have such a luxury. To be able to sit, and let her mind wander like a winding, trailing road.

Because it will always lead to her back to one place. One final destination.

And she cannot afford to dwell there.

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_Greetings comrade,_

_There has been a recent development. King Richard's nephew, Henry II has requested an alliance with our organization. I am more than willing to meet and negotiate with him._

_However, I suspect something's amiss, and I would be more than grateful in your assistance in this matter. None here has my absolute trust other than yourself, and for this reason I ask you to cease your wandering and come back._

_-M_

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"Remind me why I travel with you again," huffs an indignant Maria. She sidesteps an incoming soldier, and kicks the attacker from the back, "Besides the excellent exercise."

Altair, right next to her, disarms another and deals a blow to the unfortunate soldier's head, while dodging an incoming arrow. "We would not have to go this way if you were able to climb the watchtower."

Maria viciously slashes at an attack coming from her right. Uses an injured man as a meat shield while she pushes into the incoming wave of guards. "So now this is my fault? If I recall, if you did not alert the guards to our presence we would have gotten in without a hitch!" She yells over the clang of metal.

"Dispatching them is inevitable," growls her companion. He defends, turns and hacks away at the guard behind him. "Better now than later."

"Is there not a more sophisticated approach that requires less hands-on contact? You are a master of your trade after all," Maria pants in exertion as she pulls her sword from the last remains of the guards. She is losing count of how many has fallen.

She turns momentarily to find him. Altair, in the midst of disarming a soldier, glances over. With a fling of his free wrist, he sends a dagger flying millimeters above her head to dig into the face of an unseen enemy behind her.

"Yes, and I save them for occasions such as this," he breathes out softly. He makes his way to her, stepping over a red sea of unmoving bodies. "Are you unhurt?"

"Just fine," she replies back, somewhat stiffly. Altair quietly chuckles to himself. In the months they have traveled together, he picked up her habits. Maria is terrible with apologies. Her features right now: a scrunch right between the brows, lips tightening, and the half-scowl tell him all he needs to know.

She marches off without another word. He follows close behind, murmuring under his breath, "You are welcome."

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_Dearest Comrade,_

_I have recently discovered an off branch of Templars located in France, whose leader I promptly dispatched, and I shall set for Masyaf as soon as possible. I know my absence has deeply affected your withering heart._

_-A_

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He once told her maps are crucial tools. To have fancy flourishes or extraneous details will lower its efficiency and might even cause its reader to make fatal mistakes. Of course, she thought him to be over-exaggerating and taking his work a bit too seriously, but she soon learns that is just how Malik sees the world.

She admires his latest work; a city map of Acre complete with hidden passageways and sewage routes, before she rolls it up and gathers all the paperwork in her arms. Making her way through the all too familiar halls of the grand library, she locates the archive.

It is late noon, when even the guards are resting or having their midday meal, so she has the entire library to herself. Jin hums a whimsical tune as she files the maps into their respective places. As she finishes the last one, she cheerfully turns, walks out of the aisle, and runs right into Malik.

"Oh! I did not hear you!" Jin gasps out.

"Safety and peace, Jin," he replies sardonically, "Although with all the noise you make you deprive me of the latter."

She answers with a guilty grin. "Sorry, are you working?"

"Was." He levels a disapproving glare. One she knows too well and no longer minds.

"Well you usually work at your office, there is no need for the Master to assume his duties in a dusty, cramped library… is there?"

Malik closes his eyes. He cannot tell her the reason he is here. That this is the only spot where he can focus. For whenever Jin and her smile waltz into his office, his concentration evaporates.

"I will not have you questioning me or my methods. I should be asking you the same. What are you doing here?"

"Putting away your maps. The latest one looks wonderful by the way," she replies with a quirk of her mouth. She knows how upset it makes him when she goes through his possessions. Perhaps she does it purposely.

Malik exhales loudly. Paces a few steps away from her, but then comes back. The usual obsidian eyes are shadowed, and its inner depths hidden. His face, uncharacteristically contorting with irk and frustration, draws her curiosity.

"What troubles you now?" Jin asks teasingly. He silences her chuckle with a dark look.

"Many things," he answers enigmatically. She does not realize how close he is until his form begins to block off the light from the windows. She takes a small step back, but finds herself already leaning into a shelf of books.

"Malik?" She questions him innocently.

He watches her forest eyes, free of fear or apprehension. Such simple trust, shining with purity. It almost pains him to see her like this.

"You," he exhales softly, "It is all because of you."

"Pardon?"

Malik grits his teeth. Any older, more sophisticated woman would know exactly what he is talking about. But then again, this is also what makes her so appealing.

"The treasures that your mind hides," he murmurs, and lightly taps the base of her forehead, "and the secrets deeply buried here," his hand moves to point to the left side of her chest, "they all bother me."

She glances up at him, finally meeting the gaze she is hoping to avoid. Malik is looking at her intently. Gauging and measuring her reaction to the slightest movement.

"How so?" Jin breathes. She gulps slowly as he draws even closer, his arm bracing his tall form against the bookshelf. He has never been so close before. Her breaths are stopped short by his hard chest. The growing stubble along his angular jaw. Pale lines of past battles criss-crossing his face and neck. She can see them all.

The second his lips almost meets hers, she turns slightly to the right, and her cheek brushes against his in greeting.

The golden afternoon rays enters quietly through the dirty windows and the dusty air. The library is hushed silence, muffling all sounds. And yet Malik's sharp words are unmistakably clear, slicing through the air.

"Do not toy with me, siren. Just tell me one thing," he rasps against her ear, "will they be forever unattainable to me?"

Jin sighs. She turns to gaze back at him.

He keeps on looking ahead. Fierce and concentrated. As if he is in the midst of battle.

It has been five years. Five years of loneliness and losing hope.

The man in front of her… he is not _him_. Cannot and will never be _him_.

But he is here with her. His breath in her ear. His body heat that she feels. And his scent, of ancient maps and fragrant ink, comforts her in their familiarity.

Jin opens her mouth to speak.

"Master Malik! He has returned! The Grand Master has returned!" An excited voice calls from the library's entrance.

Malik stiffens. A dark look passes through his features and then the mask of composure slips back on. He straightens.

"My behavior was out of line. My apologies," he says coolly. He turns and disappear down the hall of books to his office.

Jin does not hear or see him leave. There are only three words playing through her head: _He has returned_.

Even after the years, her heart still stops at the mention of _him_. She closes her eyes. Allows herself to relive the memories. Of his dark, haunting face. His touches. And those golden, piercing eyes.

She pushes off the bookcase violently. Races out of the library, through the staircases and hallways, weaving through people haphazardly and with rushed apologies. At the edge of the landing, she pulls herself into a stop. Gasping for breath, blood pounding in her chest, Jin searches wildly with her eyes.

And then she sees him.

In his white robe, dusty and worn from travel, there stands Altair. Despite his grime-covered clothes, he walks like a king returning from battle, his pale imperial robes swishing behind him. And his followers flock behind him, in awe of his imposing aura and hanging onto his every word. He is surrounded by many, barraging him with questions and welcoming him all at once.

Despite the clamor and noise, his eyes find hers instantly. The world around melts away. All is suddenly quiet. Amber and green, spinning in and out of control with each other. Jin finds she cannot tear herself away. Her body is frozen to the spot.

After what seems like an eternity, he releases her. He turns, follows an escort up into Malik's office. As if nothing happened.

She is drained. Slowly sinks to the ground because her legs no longer have the capability to hold her shaking body. Jin clutches at her chest. All of her breath is sucked out. The strong, undulating ache is so unrelenting it might as well be killing her from the inside.

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Jin cannot sit still. She rushes through her evening stroll, going at twice her regular pace. Her mind is racing as she climbs the staircase to her room, and as she pushes against the wooden door, Jin takes a deep breath.

Nobody. Her viridian gaze scans the room carefully. There are no traces that anyone has entered the room.

She goes to her bed. Sits down gingerly, and waits. But then she stands, impatience in her movement, and begins to pace. First to the window, where she watches the last vestiges of sunlight graze the mountainside, and then to the edge of the bed. She falls into the thin mattress, and stares at the grains in the ceiling.

_Where is he? Surely he is done reporting back to Malik by now…_

Jin decides that staying in the room is foolish. All she has been doing is wait, so why is a few hours such unbearable torture? With deliberate steps, she walks back to the Garden, intent on visiting her favorite tree. The moment she nears the familiar spot, she senses it. Something is different.

A stillness of the air. The deathly quiet of tension emanating from within the dense branches.

"Welcome back," she breathes out.

"Safety and peace," a reluctant pause, "Jin."

She takes her usual spot at the base of the trunk. Does not bother looking for him within the leafy foliage. He will show himself if only he wants to.

"It has been a long time."

"Yes." His voice is just as she remembers. Rich, deep, and with an underlying tinge of danger.

"I wrote to you. I never received answers."

"I read them all," he replies coolly, "I did not deem it necessary to write unless it is important business."

"Did you manage… to help your friend?" The words are so hard to say, but they come out anyways. Jin closes her eyes. Truthfully, she does not wish to know.

"Yes… and no." His tone sounds regretful, and she wonders why.

"Why…" she takes a deep breath, "Do you not show yourself to me?"

The treetop is quiet for such a long time that she almost abandons the issue. But then, a slight rustle and a soft thud on the other side of the tree signals his landing. "Because I lack courage."

Jin cannot help it. She laughs. It is such an absurd concept. Him, Master Assassin, the dealer of death and skilled warrior, is afraid?

"Of me?" she asks incredulously.

"Yes," he answers simply. "I do not know how to face you, after all these years."

His words strike her speechless. She does not know how to even respond to that kind of comment. She hears him exhale loudly. "Time moves like a river, and only in one direction. Things that used to be one way, may not be the same with time's passing."

"Perhaps you are right," Jin sadly murmurs, "Some things do change." She despairingly thinks of the distance that has grown between them. Of what he has learned and seen during his travels that slowly transformed him into the stranger she is talking to.

"Indeed. It is selfish and irrational of me to assume that I can reappear in everyone's lives as if nothing has happened. I believe some things lost in the river… will never be recovered again."

"I believe so…" Jin echoes back hollowly. The dull ache is blossoming into a painful hitch. Her breathing is turning shallow and erratic. "Are you staying long?"

"It depends. I was called back for an investigation at Acre."

She shuts her eyes painfully. He came back for a mission. Not for her. It is so foolish of her to expect such a man, a man bound by duty, to return back just for her.

Altair's deep voice comes from in front of her now. "Life in Masyaf has treated you well."

Jin nods slowly, not daring to open her eyes yet. For fear he might dissolve like a dream. As if reading her thoughts, he chuckles and murmurs, "You can open them. I am real."

Jin slowly opens her eyes. And true to his word, there he stands. Proud, towering, and a dangerous weapon of a man. He is no longer wearing his assassin's robe, but a sleeveless tunic. He is just as she remembers. The angular face, the eagle-like stare making her pulse quicken, and the powerful aura. The only thing different are the scars. He has a few more than she can recall, and with a twinge of her heart, she wonders how many more he has that she cannot see.

She has changed. So much that he can hardly recognize her. Long, wavy strands of blonde hair draping down past her shoulders. Her face has lengthened, forming a pleasant oval. Her features have a sense of maturity to them. And the only thing he distinctly remembers, and is still the same, are her wide, guileless eyes. The same pair of forest green that haunts his dream, disappearing like smoke when he awakens.

They stand there. Peering through the late twilight and lengthening shadows and into another world. Jin blinks back the tightness of her throat, and swallows the tears.

He is not the same. She stayed still, while he moves on. The unfairness is clawing at her.

Altair exhales slowly. "You should go and rest. Take my room, it will be yours from this day on."

"And where will you sleep?" she asks tightly. He regards her silently.

She does not move as he brings himself closer. His face, shadowed and devoid of emotion, draws near. Jin closes her eyes. Altair leans in, and with deliberate motions, brushes her soft hair away from her face. He bestows a lingering kiss on her forehead. Similar to how a parent would embrace their children.

And then he is gone.

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Malik finds him in the library again, with books strewn around his vicinity. Third day in a row. Eyebrows twitching with annoyance, the elder Dai coughs.

"Greetings brother," Altair acknowledges him with a nod. Malik waits. When it is clear that Altair is not going to ask him the reason for the intrusion, Malik decides to jump to the point.

"Your mission." He deadpans.

"Yes."

"Leaving immediately?"

"As you wish."

"Your investigation target is-"

"Henry II, the nephew of King Richard. He is requesting an alliance with the Brotherhood. I am to go and investigate his motivations for doing so."

"… I see you have done your research," Malik begrudgingly concedes. Altair chuckles. Shuts the book he is holding, and regards his comrade.

"I hear you put on quite a display for him when he visited Masyaf."

Malik shrugs. "The usual procedure. Two of our trainees performed leaps of faith, and he was convinced of our competency. And before I forget, I would like to add a trainee to your one-man traveling team. We are under-manned at Acre, and I believe we can use all the eyes and ears we can get."

"Of course. I hope for his sake that he rides fast, for I wait for no one ."

Malik smirks. "Indeed, I feel sorry for the poor soul already".

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There was something wrong with Malik's smirk. It was more twisted and grim than his usual sarcasm. Altair does not dwell long on it. Until the moment he arrives at the stables and sees Jin dressed in the loose grey trainee gear and waiting by her horse.

He curses under his breath.

She looks as if she wants to bolt as soon as she catches sight of him. If not for the reins she is holding onto, he bets she would have.

"…This is unexpected," he says after a long pause.

"You are not the only one who was played," Jin scoffs, "My first mission outside of Masyaf and my escort just happens to be you."

His amber gaze narrows. "Is there a problem with that?"

Jin stops. Lowering her gaze, with her hands playing with the leather reins, she answers, "No, Master Altair."

"If you are ready, then we shall depart. It will be a three day ride to Acre," Altair briskly says as he saddles up. Once all is in place, he pulls himself up with much practiced ease, and without a backwards glance, makes his way out of the stable.

Jin watches wryly. "A very long three days indeed."

* * *

Notes: Wow... it's been so long since I updated. Apologies, but life has been crazy busy. I lack inspiration... there needs to be so much research done regarding France, Jin's heritage, historical events, Altair's codex...

1) The first scene's obviously a flashback. I don't know why, the randomest thing triggered the idea. And with the distance that grew btw the two characters, I think it makes it very bittersweet.

2) Malik... is so hard to imagine seducing/chasing after a girl. In his own sarcastic, awkward way. And as much as I adore him, I cannot imagine him not being one bit jealous/bitter that Altair's back and is complicating things.

3) Henry the II did visit Masyaf apparently, seeking an alliance. And the Hashshashin did give him a show, making 2 of their followers jump off of towers as a display of their dedication. As for his motive... that might just be revealed next chap.

4) I also miss writing plots. All this romance drama is taking its toll on me, but it's just so much work researching... Argh! More plot stuff next chap, I promise. Just don't expect a fast update.


	16. Chapter 16

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Chapter 16

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_Greetings friend,_

_How is the Acre treating you? I hope that as a married woman, you do not forget the friends you still have back home. A familiar face may be coming in the next few days, so feel free to make a shopping expedition in the near future._

_-M_

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Jin decides right away that she does not like Acre. It is too cold, too unwelcoming with its European buildings and gray fog. Templars and soldiers frequent all corners, and walking outside for a couple of minutes puts a tenuous strain on everyone's nerves.

But what is even chillier is Altair. He says few words to her. He looks off often into the distance. And the few polite conversations they do engage in are purely business.

The sole comfort she has are the brief and short visits from Yasmin. The first time the other girl arrived at the Rafiq's door, Jin almost cried tears of joy. To see a familiar, loving face in a land surrounded by strangers and coldness was like a refreshing drink after a drought.

As the two sit in the Bureau's conservatory, reclining within its lush carpets and sharing a bowl of dates, Yasmin recounts her experiences. She was married to a merchant who is suspected of selling more than pots. In fact, he is a double agent providing intelligence to the Templars. As a merchant, he is seldom home, Yasmin was granted freedom among the household. She is able to hand-pick her servants, and she will always conveniently send them away for errands while she pays the Bureau a visit.

When asked about her pseudo marriage, Yasmin just laughs softly and waves a hand dismissively. "It could have been better but it also could have been much worse," she comments lightly, and then changes the topic. But Jin can see traces of healing bruises under her shawl, and can only painfully wonder how many more she hides under clothing and false pretenses.

So she does not feel guilty when she refuses to disclose anything about Altair. Yasmin begged, cajoled, used every possible method of persuasion short of threatening her life. But she remains silent. It seemed like her friend had her own set of troubles to deal with, and as much as she wants to, Jin just does not have the heart to add one more.

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_Dear Friend from Home,_

_It was a pleasant surprise indeed. I did not expect to see our mutual friend so soon. Especially with that kind of company in tow. (What exactly were you thinking?)_

_Hardly two words pass between the two. I have not the faintest clue to what has transpired in my absence. She is adamantly silent, and I can only seek your advice on this matter. Please do, for I can tell she is suffering and much thinner from when I saw her last._

_-Y_

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He looks anxious. No, on edge is a more apt description.

Altair does not stop pacing. He fingers his sword at his hip, sheathes and unsheathes his hidden blade.

"Who are we waiting for?" Jin calls out from behind the counter. She ducks under to retrieve a list of inventory. The Bureau seems to be running low on ink and feathered pens again. Perhaps on her next shopping trip she can also pick up some sugar and nightshade to replenish her own supply.

"My informant," he answers tersely. It seems wise not to pry any further, and so she says no more.

A few more minutes passes, and then a lithe shadow appears by the door frame. The woman pulls down her hood slowly. Jin does not recognize her, but is surprised to see a Western foreigner at the Bureau.

"Maria…" Relief obviously paints his voice as Altair makes his way over to her, and all of a sudden Jin realizes who this woman is. She is the one. The reason why he left Masyaf five years ago and why he is acting so distant now.

All because of her.

She clenches her fists. Averts her gaze as if looking upon a lovers' reunion. But she cannot close her ears.

"Why did you not send George? Especially since-"

"Security has been tighter than usual," Maria tersely cuts him off. "The Count of Champagne is preparing for something. The scullery maids, my people, tells me that there will be important guests coming in from overseas tomorrow. Seems like it will be worth investigating."

"Leave it to me. Go home, and stay safe. You have done much already," he says, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

"You know it will be near impossible for you to infiltrate that fortress. His soldiers are already warned of the Assassins, and they will kill you on sight. That, and your organization has already made an alliance with Henry II. If he catches you in his castle, you might as well have sealed Masyaf's fate."

Altair sighs. "I have no other choice. Malik is convinced there is treachery going on, and I trust his good judgment." With a pointed look at her midriff, he adds "And it is better to risk one life than two."

Maria opens her mouth to protest, but was swiftly interrupted by Jin.

"I will do it."

Both heads turn in surprise. For the first time, Maria takes note of the other woman in the room. Her sharp gaze scans Jin carefully, and then looks back to Altair questioningly.

"Who is she?"

"A dear friend and a valuable comrade. Maria, this is Jinan, I believe I have spoken of her to you."

Jin hides her surprise at his words. She did not think he would be speaking of her… especially to this woman.

"Ah, the orphan. I am Maria Thrope, ex-Templar and now an ally of the Brotherhood," she declares as she extends a hand. Jin pauses only for a moment, but years of impersonating a man kick in, and she grips the woman's hand in a firm handshake.

"A pleasure to meet you."

"So tell us, how exactly do you plan to infiltrate the hold?" Maria's tone is all business, with no trace of patronization or a mocking voice. Jin sees that she has the older woman's entire attention, and she straightens up unconsciously under that severe gaze.

"If they are in preparation for guests, I am sure they are in need of an extra hand. Nobody will recognize me if I am hired, and I can gather the necessary information while I work."

Maria nods. "A sound plan. My informants can help-"

"No." Says Altair with a blood-chilling tone. Both of the women turn to look at him.

The brim of his hood shadows most of his face, but the firm line of his mouth leaves no room for argument.

"No," he harshly repeats, his amber eyes locking onto Jin. Maria regards him for a silent minute.

"Why not?" Maria insists, "She is right, she is the only one with the least likelihood of being discovered. If she has been training within the Assassin ranks, she is more than capable of recon missions. You yourself have praised her abilities when you two infiltrated King Richard's camp."

Altair stays silent. Jin lifts her eyes to meet his, and after an agonizing moment, he tears his gaze away.

"Do as you will." Comes his terse answer. He turns briskly, and leaves through the open door.

"Well that was a first," Maria remarks offhandedly. She turns and looks at Jin with a new, contemplative look. Jin returns her gaze staunchly.

The older woman finally breaks the tense silence. "Are you willing to go through with it? He does not say it, but there will be plenty of risks involved,"

Jin nods firmly. "I will do it."

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_Dear Friend,_

_I do not suppose the phrase minding one's own business has any meaning to you. Ironically, I am in the same boat as you and uncertain about their behavior. Regardless, I am certain your presence, as opposed to mine, will alleviate her misery._

_-M_

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The Count of Champagne was not a patient man. He was young, ambitious, and had many plans that have yet to come to fruition, but he is serious in seeing all of them through.

"My lord, the new cutlery you ordered have just arrived," his aide reads off of long list tediously. Henry II drums his fingers as the other man drones on. A servant places a cup of steaming, fragrant tea in front of him, and he waves her away.

Food, wine, finery… it was so frivolous and unnecessary. He sips at the tea slowly. Watching the contents of the cup swirl.

"James, just skip to the important matters. Are there extra archers and guards like I asked?" He demands as he sets the cup down.

"Yes my lord. There are twenty more archers posted, ten more watchmen, all with overlapping shifts like you ordered, and then there's fifteen or so good able-bodied men…"

"Then we're all good. Has the preparations been completed?" Henry II lowered his voice. His aide, a high-strung fellow, leans in and asks, "Which ones?"

"The meeting room of course!" He hisses in return. Incompetence is like a plague these days. He takes another sip to calm his nerves. "We have to make sure the servants do not come close to that area, and the guards are hand-picked. Who knows what kind of spies can be lurking in the corners."

The aide stops for a minute, and then leans back in, whispering "But my lord, I thought we were only to discuss this later, in private."

The Count clears his throat. "Right, I forgot about that. But aren't we alone anyways?"

His aide pointedly looks behind him, and the older man almost curses as he catches sight of the servant who served him tea.

He beckons towards the servant to come, and she obliges. "How much of that did you hear?" He demands in English. She does not answer, not until the aide hurriedly translated.

"I beg your pardon sir, I do not understand the tongue," she replies softly in Arabic. He examines her closely. The girl seems to be young, face half-covered with dirty brown hair, but blessed with fair skin. Her eyes are demure and downcast.

"I do not recall seeing you here before," he murmurs quietly. One hand goes to tip her chin up, so that he can have a better look. She returns his gaze shyly beneath lashes, and then quickly averts her eyes.

"Pardon me my lord, but we have hired some extra hands recently," his aide cuts in.

"Where does she work?" Henry II has to wait again, until question is translated.

"In the kitchen and sometimes cleaning the hallways my lord."

"With a pretty face like yours?" he murmurs in contemplation. He keeps his eyes on her features, turning slightly to address to his aide. "Make sure she is one of the servers. With an exotic face like hers, she should be entertaining guests and not scrubbing dishes."

"Uh… yes sir."

She trembles slightly. He realizes he has kept his hand cupped to the underside of her chin the entire time. He releases her. The spell broken. He ashamedly reminds himself he is now a married man.

But he cannot help but let his eyes wander, and follow the servant girl as she withdraws to the shadows.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was not hard getting inside. The scullery maids Maria knows helped vouched for her and she was in.

It was finding the time to explore the hold that was hard.

Between washing dishes, running to the markets, and disposing garbage, Jin almost has no time to breath. Her lucky break came when a servant fell ill and she was ordered to clean the halls. She makes a mental map while she mops the corridors, and listens discretely as she wipes dust from metal suits of armor and the gilded frames hanging from the walls. When she returns to the Bureau (after taking many fake turns and backtracking from being followed), she sketches out the blueprint on paper from memory.

Altair's expression grows darker and darker with each passing day. She thought he would lighten up as the mission was going well, but the opposite seems to be happening.

After the encounter with the Count, she now knows her truth serum produces results. She has dyed her hair a light brown to stay inconspicuous, and tried her best to fake ignorance as the two Englishmen examined her like a piece of meat. But she cannot help but tremble with indignation as she sees the lust in Henry II's eyes. And afterward, she hopes he will soon meet a swift, painful death.

The only good thing resulting from that incident is her being able to access the banquet room. They gave her a new uniform, demanded a cleaner appearance, and assigned a veteran server to train her.

Altair grudgingly admits to it too. Although his ominous mood does not change a bit. The plan they devised was to sneak into the meeting room after the guests have finished with their meal. Jin can slip away as the other servants clear the plates and eavesdrop on the meeting while avoiding capture.

The fateful day soon approaches. Jin watches as white sails gather in the harbor, and knows that today will be the day when all the planning will be put to the test.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

She is not supposed to be there.

Altair watches with clenched jaws as Jin inches closer to the wooden doors leading to the meeting room. He himself is safely tucked away in the shadows. But not her. No, she is brazenly ignoring the first tenet of the Creed, risking her safety, and compromising the mission by deviating from the plan.

_Why? What is she doing? _

His mouth utters a stream of curses as he watches her step ever closer to danger. His mind goes into overload. Thousands of possible scenarios racing through his head but all of them preventing him from interfering.

Jin stops a few yards away from the door. She looks to be in thought… and after a brief second of debate, she resolutely palms a brick in front of her. To Altair's surprise, a section of the wall disappears, revealing a secret passageway. He curses as her slight form disappears into the dark tunnel, and he debates whether he should follow or not.

Thankfully, the decision was made for him.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was Templars! Henry II is collaborating with their leader on infiltrating the Assassin's stronghold. However, he is withholding Masyaf's exact location until he gets what he wants: more gold.

Jin congratulates herself on the triumphant discovery as she makes her way back out the secret passageway. The truth serum has more uses than previously thought. Slipping into other servants' drinks and food has produced many interesting information. Some told her scandalous stories and juicy gossip, and others have shared secrets like the hidden passageway.

She pulls the holder of a burning lamp like a lever, and the wall slides open. Blinking against the sudden discrepancy of light she steps out right as the patrolling guards round the corner.

"Hey! You are not allowed here!" A gruff voice yells as the sounds of heavy armor approach from both sides. Trapped, Jin can only feint innocence as best she could.

"Forgive me sir, I was merely lost. I am new."

"A servant girl? But dinner was over and done with an hour ago. Lies! What we have here is a spy!"

Jin protests, but a metal gauntlet slams into her head. Pain, smart and sharp, explodes in her vision. She drops down, and attempts to roll out of the way. Vision blurry, she isn't sure if there are four guards or two.

She blinks. Tries to clear her head and ignores the throbbing wound. She chances a look up.

There is nobody left standing.

"What…?" She tries to get up, but stumbles. Steady hands suddenly lift her, and she finds herself looking into the glowing eyes of an eagle.

"Idiot," he softly scolds her. With the back of his right hand, he wipes at the dripping wound at her temple. Jin notes with surprise that his hand is trembling.

"Why… are you here?" she dazedly asks. She wonders if it is the blow to the head, or just his overpowering proximity that is making her light-headed.

"I decided to follow you. To prevent you from doing something truly … idiotic," he sighs. His hold tightens around her. "We are going back. And this mission is over."

Jin's eyes widen at his order, but refuses to stay silent. "I heard something important in there."

"Save it, now is not the time" he snaps, effectively shutting her up. She stays quiet for the entire trip. And when he finally sets her down on her feet again on the tiled floor of the conservatory, she cannot bear it any longer.

"Are you mad?"

A shift of weight. A sharp intake of breath. "Furious."

Jin walks up to his hooded figure cautiously. It is already dark, and pale moonlight does nothing to illuminate his features, in fact, it succeeds in shrouding it even more. She slowly reaches up to pull down his hood.

Altair's face looks more weary than she remembers. Lines are engraved within his sharp, eagle-like features. His eyes are shadowed with doubt and a rare hint of vulnerability. He is no longer the imposing Master Assassin, the young, defiant man who she first encountered. No, this is a man who has seen the world's trouble and has taken humanity's heavy burden.

"Forgive me," she murmurs, "… and thank you. For saving me once more."

Without warning, his strong arms come to wrap around her frame. Tightly, with almost a violent passion. He buries his face within her hair. His words, whispered roughly and almost incoherent against her skin, stops her heartbeat.

"I cannot lose you."

Her lips, hesitantly and with much trepidation, finds its way to his. His body stills. And then, oh, so deliciously, he responds. She can feel it. The heat, the fire. A flame that swells upwards, rising from dying embers and burning away the years of loneliness.

So intense it is, it overshadows the pain and anguish, and replaces it with a delicious flicker of a familiar ache. Desire coursing through her veins, Jin clutches at his robes, trying to hold on to the vestiges of reality.

He pulls away suddenly. Breathing a bit harder than normal, but his face immaculately carved in composure. "We cannot continue."

She does not even try to hide the hurt and disappointment in her voice. "Is it because of Maria?"

"Yes… and no. Things are not-"

"…the same, but tell me, does this not feel the same?" Jin urgently pulls him down for another heady kiss. He responds instantly. Almost as if he missed the warmth of her body as much as she for him.

"Can we not go back to how things were?"

"And how were things back then?"

"It was…" she pauses, coherency being difficult at that moment, "much simpler."

A humorless chuckle. "But it is not much different from now. No titles, no formal claims. Tell me, precious Jin, what is different back then?"

Now she stops. Fully concentrates, and searches his amber gaze slowly.

He is right. As always. He never promised her anything. He gave her life, his time, and a new home. His life is bound by duty, to the Brotherhood and countless of lives he feels responsible for. He can never belong to one person. She finally realizes.

"Then let me ask you this: what does the man Altair want? I do not want to hear from the Assassin, the leader, or the philosopher. I just want you… to tell me exactly what I am to you."

He takes a slow breath. Steps back, and immediately she feels the loss of warmth.

"I cannot," he answers simply. "For who I am and what I do are intertwined like strings of fate. Forever binding me to others, and at the same time to no one. The moment I let someone close, they automatically become a weakness. There is a possibility that I might let my own selfishness transcend others' needs."

Jin turns around painfully. She cannot bear to let him see the tears threatening to spill over. "You have been selfish anyways," she hoarsely chokes out. He does not disagree.

"_Are you scared?" His voice is close, breath tickling her ear. _

"_No," she answers back in a soft murmur. _

Altair reaches out a tentative hand. She lets him slowly turn her around.

_His hands lift from her face. "Then open your eyes." _

_She does. And gasps in wonderment. _

_The sky is stretching on endlessly. The horizon far off, grazing mountaintops. The clouds seem so near, close enough to touch, and an eagle's cry pierces through the air. A light breeze caresses her face, and the ground is dizzyingly far below. Fear stabs through her then. A blinding, paralyzing fear._

"Look at me."

She does. The same pair of molten amber gazes imperiously back at her. Just as when he tackles her to the ground in their first meeting. When he rescued her from countless sticky situations. In gratitude, in sickness, and most memorable of all, when they first came together. That penetrating, deep look that cuts to the bone, demanding nothing short of truth.

_Altair grips her elbow as she almost takes a step back. "Steady." He slowly maneuvers to the end of the beam they both stand on. _

"_I'll go first. Look closely and learn." _

She saw the question there. Asking for acceptance and forgiveness and … something else. More than she can provide and more than he deserves.

"_Wait," she hates the sound of panic in her voice, "How will I know it will break the fall? That I will be fine?"_

_He leans back. Tawny amber steadfast on viridian green. _

"_That is why it is a leap of faith." And he flies._

And she jumps.

* * *

Notes: Sorry for the wait you guys. School's been busy, and it was only when I got sick for a week that I had the motivation to put something down on virtual paper.

Apparently fermenting sugar can give you ethanol, Scopolamine from nightshade, and bunches of other stuff all can make a drug that is somewhat like a truth serum. Unethical to use... but hey, who's to stop Jin?

I seriously doubt I can have a chapter where I don't somehow include Malik. Can't miss out on the sarcasm. -_-

I hope the last scene where it goes back and forth between present and past doesn't confuse alot of people. I like writing drabbles about the past times they might have shared with each other, and somehow the leap of faith seemed to be relevant to what he's asking.

Thank you for all the reviews! It's very encouraging and it does push me to see this fic through. There are some key events that need to happen, and to connect them all together coherently will take some work and a lot of inspiration. It'll be tough, but seriously, it'll be an epic journey.


	17. Chapter 17

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Chapter 17

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_Dear Friend, _

_It is not discretion that you hide behind. At least I am willing to show concern for a friend, and not send them away at the slightest inconvenience. But I suppose your stoic nature is part of your charm. Which explains why you are so popular with women. _

_As for my husband, he is doing well. A bit too well in my opinion. I attached some inventory and numbers. You know what to do with them. _

_-Y_

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He has no time to waste. Word of the guards' deaths must have traveled throughout the fortress. Henry II will become even more suspicious and wary. It will be a matter of days before the staff realizes they are missing a servant.

From what Jin has told him, there's no doubt of the count's collaboration with the Templar. The only problem is, they do not have tangible proof.

The noisy street below pays him no mind as sits on a ledge right below a balcony. He focuses his vision. The differently colored auras swim into view. Red is, unfortunately, the most pervasive one.

The man's a coward. He has guards following his every step. Normally that isn't a problem for him, but the sheer amount of men will most likely outnumber him. That, and he does not have enough evidence for an official assassination. So a public scene is out of the question. Altair grunts as he readjusts his position.

_Malik will not be happy_, he grimly thinks.

The crowd cheering interrupts his quiet thoughts. Altair does not bother to watch as the parade begins. Instead, his eyes roam at the towers and battlements. Guards are positioned in every nook and corners. Heavy metal helmets cover their heads. Making it a lot harder for the hidden blade.

But at the same time, preventing them from looking up. And seeing him.

"James, have they caught the intruder yet?" Henry II taps his fingers impatiently against the railing.

"No, my lord. But they are still looking. There are also double the amount of guards," James answers dutifully from his position by the window curtains.

"Incompetence…" the older man mutters. He leans against the balcony, and glares at the merry parade happening below. "Just what is going on down there?"

His aide examines his nails in a bored fashion. "Just some welcoming event for our guests sir. Morale have been low lately, and- sir?" He raises his head to see the spot his master previously occupied empty.

A shriek from below spurs him into action. James rushes to the balcony, leans over its edge and peers down below. It was not a long drop from the window. Five meters at the most. So James is able to see the blood spreading like fire on the cobblestone, and see the weird angles in which the count's limbs makes.

"My lord!"

Suddenly a hand reaches out and grabs his collar. James chokes as his body is pressed up tight against the railings of the balcony.

"Give me the names of the Templars your master has contacted." A deep, dark voice demands. The aide finds himself face to face with a tawny, predator's glare.

"I-I do not know," stammers the terrified man. Altair pulls the poor man even harder against the metal railings.

"Do not know or do not remember? Either way, you will soon join your friend down there shortly if you do not answer."

James blanches at the assassin's words. "He has not! I swear it!"

Altair narrows his eyes at man's earnest tone. Perhaps he is telling the truth. And perhaps Henry II did not have the message go through this servant. Either way, time is short. The guards are already amassing below.

With a muttered blessing, the assassin flings the scrawny man over the balcony to join his master. Altair is almost certain he will survive the fall. The only one he wanted dead was Henry II, and his hidden blade made sure of that before he threw him over.

Altair climbs up over the metal railing. Jumps and grabs a hold of the low awning and pulls himself up onto the slanted rooftop. His feet cannot run fast enough. The white-robed man literally soars as he sprints back to the Bureau.

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Were those memories that she sometimes sees? Shades of remembrances of a distant past, or vestiges of a forgotten dream? She does not know.

Masyaf's shining, bright sun hangs above in the clear sky. There is an eagle's cry, the flutter of wings, and a flash of talons. She remembers being happy. Of being so weightless and carefree. And of a man who she centers her entire existence upon.

When he is pleased she is ecstatic. When he is moody she gets anxious. When he is troubled, she feels agony.

Sometimes when she closes her eyes, he will be there. Silent, deadly, and his shadow is stalking her movements from above. Or sometimes, when she opens them, he is not there. But sometimes in the morning, there's a lingering wetness on her lips, and a slight wrinkle on the bed sheets. And she has to tell herself it is not a dream.

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_Brother,_

_You were right. He is a traitor. Target most likely made contact with our enemies. He was looking to sell the location of Masyaf to highest bidder. I could not get the names of the ones he contacted, but expect me back soon._

_-A_

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She stands on the high watch tower. Leaning onto the edge, Maria breathes in deeply. It is quite nippy up there, and the wind playfully tousles her cape, as they turn her ears red. Her hand naturally goes to her midsection, where a telling bulge is already starting to show. She mentally apologizes to her unborn child, but privacy is the main reason why they choose to meet up there.

She wonders whimsically if the babe will like high places like his father does.

Maria turns as she hears his approach. A smiles unknowingly appears on her face. She knows he purposely gives himself away, all for her consideration.

"You are late," she teases. He does not offer an apology, but comes to stand beside her.

"I will be leaving. The information we learned can be used. Templars are on the move once more, and I need to return to Masyaf to consult with Malik what to do next."

She nods. "A logical step."

"I will be back in half a year at the most. By that time…"

"Women usually do not need a men's help to give birth."

She is teasing him again. It just comes so naturally she cannot resist. But Altair does not smile. "I do not find the idea of missing the birth of my firstborn amusing," he says gravely. She turns slightly and glances up at his solemn face. Goes up to place a soft kiss on his uncompromising mouth.

"Forgive me. You will not. He will wait for you. And I…" she pauses briefly, " am not used to such an attentive father."

She does not mention Robert De Sable. Or how she hid the secret of her pregnancy from him. Maria knew back then it will not stay a secret for long, and plans to eventually tell him, but he died before she had the chance. She will not speak of the lonely nights. Of the fear and uncertainty that sometimes wracked through her body, ones that left her breathless and tense.

But the fact that Altair will be at her side, it comforts her greatly. She leans into his touch easily and with much familiarity.

"So what kind of father was the man before me?" he asks quietly. She stills. His arms tighten around her, holding her in place.

"He did not know. Hardly right to blame him," she tries to say it with a dismissive tone, but it just sounds wistful. She desperately searches for another topic.

"And the baby?"

"Lost him. Pretty early on." She replies flatly. It is not a lie, she reasons silently.

"My condolences." His hold loosens. But she does not step away.

"What about the girl, Jinan? Have you told of what you learned about her family?" She switches abruptly.

His face is perfectly still. Breathing is normal. But yet Maria can still feel it: she caught him off guard. She smirks.

How quickly the tables can turn.

"I have not," he admits finally, "I see no point in bringing up history that will not help her."

"But she deserves to know does she not? I would if I were her."

_But you are not_, he silently adds. Maria peers at him under his hood. She knew there is something between the two. Between hearing how he says her name and him reacting so strongly against Jin's plan, Maria can guess there is some past history. And perhaps it is not all in the past. For he has moments when there is a far-off look in his eyes. As if he is not completely there with her.

"Was she a lover?" Her blunt question surprises him. Altair's eyes narrow in suspicion. "I do not see how this is relevant with the topic at hand."

"It is not. This is for my curiosity's sake. Was she?" Maria insistently asks.

A pause. Altair looks as if he is going to say something. But she quickly cuts in.

"Never mind. It matters not to me." Maria turns sharply. Takes a few steps away from him and leans against the battlement. She can already tell. Master Assassin he might be, but she still has a women's intuition, and she just knows. It does not bother her much. A man like him was bound to have many women at his side. But what bothers her is how much she cares.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The cold water of the indoor fountain slides over her scalp and some trickle down her neck. Yasmin's gentle fingers run through her hair and lathers soap to wash away the hair dye. Now that her mission's done, Jin is free to shed her disguise.

"Almost done. Your hair has grown so long," Yasmin murmurs above her. "This reminds me of the many times I washed your hair and picked out your outfits."

Jin smiles too. She inhales the scent of jasmine, and loses herself in the memories.

"I will be leaving for Masyaf soon. Perhaps tomorrow," she says sadly, "I do not know when the next time we will meet." Wetness drips drown from her nose, and mixes in with the brown, soapy water. There is not even a pause in Yasmin's rhythmic motions. "Do not fret. We will meet again."

The younger girl washes off the remaining soap, and wraps Jin's now gloriously blonde hair in a towel. She twists it deftly to squeeze out remaining wetness.

"What are you going to do about Altair," Yasmin asks conversationally, "Are you just going to concede to that Maria woman?"

"I do not know what else to do…She is carrying his child," Jin replies back listlessly.

"That woman plays dirty…" Yasmin clucks disapprovingly. "So what about you? What leverage do you hold over him?"

"Nothing."

"Exactly."

Jin looks at Yasmin with confusion. "What?"

The younger, shorter woman grips the edges of Jin's towel, and pulls her in closer. Whispering into Jin's ear, Yasmin's words bring about a tiny gasp of revelation.

Yasmin straightens up slowly. Her compelling gaze holds Jin's.

"Remember what I have taught you. We are women, and thus we fight to win."

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He is so close she can lean in and touch him.

But she cannot.

Sometimes their eyes meet, she wants to look away. And not be drawn in those twin pools of amber. A predator's all-knowing gaze .

But she cannot.

And every time he comes into her chambers in the dead of the night, she wants to turn him away, to at least show him a fraction of the pain he has caused.

But she cannot.

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As Jin pack her medical supplies, she pauses as her hand brushes against a brown package. Lifting it to her nose and sniffing it, she recognizes it as cotton root bark and smartweed leaves. Her herbal contraceptives. She mixes them into an infusion and drinks it daily to prevent becoming heavy with child.

Jin tucks in the package with the rest. Then stops. She takes it out and walks over to the window. Yasmin's words from that day still swimming in her head.

It is true that Altair visits her at night. But the encounters are brief. Passionate, but also lacking… something. He does not shed all his clothing. And he never stays the entire night. With a gentle caress of her cheek and a soft farewell, Altair would take his leave and Jin once again finds herself alone in the cold room.

Jin closes her eyes. She recalls those days of blissful ignorance in Masyaf. Of how they lay with tangled limbs within the sheets. The moonlight cradling both of them in her cool embrace, and him whispering tender words into her hair. Back when she believed how she is the only woman in his life.

She can only wonder at what the future might hold. Maria will have his baby. There will always be missions in Acre that he will undertake. He will be traversing back and forth between the two cities. His time always divided. She will be the mistress. The one on the side offering carnal pleasures while the other woman will have his care, his devotion because she bears him children. A successor and a legacy.

_"What leverage do you hold over him?"_

_"Nothing."_

Jin sucks in a breath sharply.

_"Exactly."_

She whispers Yasmin's words to herself as she lets the herbs fall from the window and mingle with the wind.

_"Then create a leverage for yourself."_

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Masyaf looms in front of the two riders like a monolithic fortress. Warm sunlight beams down upon its stone walls, but Jin still shiver a bit as they pass under the entrance gate.

_The entire trip had been silent. Almost identical to the way the had left, but it was no longer tense silence that lays between them. Just a million unspoken questions and teasing anticipation. Jin was surprised that he made no attempt to touch her during the three days. And was a bit disappointed, but she did not dare make the first move. _

_On the last night of their journey, the air was especially chilly. It was late fall when they arrived at Acre, and now winter was well under way. The woman shivered and pulled the thin travel blankets closer to her huddled form. The dying embers made a faint glow, and she could not make out Altair's sleeping form. All of a sudden, she felt a strong arm wrapped itself around her waist and pulled her against a hard chest. He was deliciously warm, and it she was tempted to turn and bury herself against his chest. _

"_Sleep," he had murmured quietly. And there was no longer any more movement from him. Jin closed her eyes and savored the warmth of shared body heat, and was lulled to sleep by his heartbeats. _

Malik does not look happy, Jin thinks apprehensively as they both step into the office. But then again, he never does.

"Safety and peace, brother," Altair greets warily. Almost as if the elder Dai is a snake preparing to strike.

"Please tell me some good news," Malik wearily says. Altair stays silent, until the older man exhales a sigh. "Very well, proceed with the bad news."

"Henry II has leaked the location of Masyaf to the Templars. Although I could not retrieve their names, I am almost certain an attack will be made on us soon." Here Altair pauses, as if considering his next words. "Malik, the Templars have gone into the shadows, and I believe now is the right time for us to follow suit. Having a base where our enemies can lay siege is too risky. I suggest we leave Masyaf."

Malik stares at him in quiet disbelief.

"Abandon Masyaf! Are you insane?" He snarls. His sole arm makes erratic movements in the air, and Jin unknowingly takes a step back. "This is the fortress in which our founder has established the Brotherhood. This is where we hold all our trade secrets and our sacred knowledge dating back since the beginning! How can you ask the Brotherhood to forsake all of that?"

Altair does not look fazed at his outburst. He replies evenly, "I do realize it is a radical idea. But this is not the first time I have mentioned it and it will not be the last. Please do reconsider."

"And how do you suppose our Brothers will take to the news? To abandon our stronghold and live scattered throughout the lands?" Malik viciously continues. Altair exhales slowly. Jin can tell he is trying hard not to give in to his temper. She places a comforting hand on his arm, a gesture not lost upon Malik's sharp eyes.

"I am only suggesting what I think is the most prudent course of action. However, there are other solutions. This is one of mine. But in your honest opinion, how well do you think our men will fare against a Templar army?"

Malik turns away and start pacing. He looks up, and his dark eyes looks pained. "Not well." He mentally starts counting their numbers and the amount of artillery they have. "If they besiege us, we can last a couple of weeks at the most. We cannot easily defend the town below us, but the fortress can hold strong for at least three months. But at least we will still have our pride and heritage. I know these men. I have walked amongst them enough times to know they would rather die then relinquish Masyaf."

His words deal more damage than expected. Jin sees a muscle jerk in Altair's strong jaw, the only sign he is unnerved.

"Well, then I suggest we begin stocking up for a long winter. It will be a hell of a battle." Altair replies tersely as he walks out of the office, dragging Jin with him.

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_Greetings Friend,_

_I have reviewed the documents you sent. You are right in that they are not the right numbers. I have suspicions your good husband may be selling something other than spices._

_Please observe him carefully as you have been._

_I shall overlook your previous statements. They are too ridiculous to even respond to._

_-M_

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When the messenger rode into Masyaf, with his horse half-dead in exhaustion and his breath coming in panting gasps, nobody was surprised at the news he brought.

Templars are coming.

The fortress is a bustle with activity. The archers are constantly whittling arrows, the blacksmith forge has a fire that burns into the night, and storage rooms are filling up with provisions. Even Jin finds herself too busy at the infirmary, preparing for an onslaught of patients later on. Medicine, pain killers, bandages, and supplies. She can never have too many of each.

She hardly sees him. He is either too busy training others, checking the placement of the traps set around the fortress, and talking to fellow Brothers of the impending attack. His face is set in a fierce scowl most of the time. His fists tight and clenched at his side. Almost as if he is sending his comrades to their deaths.

Altair is so tightly wound. Like a taut wire over nails, she can almost hear the reverberating dissonance of his thoughts. Jin cannot stand it anymore.

She catches him by himself one evening. He is walking within the Garden, seeking peace and solitude but she intercepts him anyways. Without a word, she takes him by the arm and leads him to her tree.

"Tell him of your troubles," Jin whispers reverently as her hands trace the wooden patterns of the trunk, "and he will always listen."

Altair is solemn. He does not smile at her words, but looks up at the tree seriously. Slowly, his hand, the one without a ring finger, comes to rest at the smooth bark. Altair leans even closer, so that even his forehead is touching the tree.

"Save them." Just two simple words, but it speaks volumes. Jin watches breathlessly as his body undergoes a transformation. From tense rigidity, to an unwinding flow of current. Almost as if he had been flying against the wind, and suddenly readjusted his course.

For the longest time since she can remember, a genuine smile appears on her lips.

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"Please Malik," Jin pleads.

"No." The answer comes back swift and sharp. Malik turns back to his desk, where a daunting stack of letters and inventories await for his attention. Jin sighs, but remains determined.

She walks around the huge table, and stands by his side. His black quill pen makes a furious scribbling noise as he drafts a quick reply to a memo. "Why not? Why must Altair be in the front lines?"

Scritch scratch, the black feather drifts across the paper. Jin sighs and stands even closer. So that eventually his arm brushes against her body every time he starts a new sentence.

Malik snaps. His hand slams down on the unfinished letter, splattering inky blood over the paper. He shoots up in a blink, and pins her with his glare.

"Because he is the best that we have. He himself has made the decision, and nothing I say will sway him!" Indignation burns in his eyes at her nerve, and perhaps at his own susceptibility.

"Malik…" Jin cannot bring herself to speak as the realization hits. She leans forward until her chin rests on his shoulder. With her left arm slightly between his arm resting on the desk, it is as close to an embrace as she ever dares.

"You love him." The words come in soft and tender from her mouth. There is no judgment or scorn from her voice. Understanding and sympathy pours from her like the perfume of jasmine, and it is so sweet he almost chokes. He does not answer her. Instead, he also leans forward. Savors the feel of her feminine body pressing against his, and breathes in her scent. The moment might have been a few minutes. Or an eternity. She cannot tell.

Malik slowly straightens and puts some respectable distance between them. Turning his head slightly, he addresses the shadow that has been watching from behind a column.

"Altair, do you have news for me?"

* * *

Notes:

I think the story reached another milestone. There's couple shipping! Lol Oh you readers crack me up… Especially with a random Malik x Maria ship. A fandom within a fandom I would say.

I came sooooo close to converting this story into a slash fic. That would've been interesting. Malik desiring Jin because she has Altair's affections, something he can never attain. That would be a wicked concept, but oh wells. It is brotherly love after all. No need to panic.

So I'm not sure I'm conveying Jin's emotions and motivations clearly enough. Basically, she's desperate, and in love. People can do some ridiculous and petty things just to keep the one they want by their side. Believe me. And no, I'm not advocating women to get pregnant in order to keep a guy. -_-

On a side note, the guy I base Altair off of is back. I am really happy about it, but it's always confusing with him. Looking forward to some inspiration. I did bet a with my friend. If we do hook up, then there will be a parallel ending in the story. If we don't… well then the ending will prolly be quite different. Haha. This should be interesting...

Out of curiosity, how many people who read this are actually guys? And what are the guys' POV on the story overall?

Please, please no spoilers for any recent Assassin's Creed games from Brotherhood and beyond. Haven't had the time to delve into those yet.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Controversial/unpleasant scenarios ahead. Read at your own discretion.

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Chapter 18

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Her blood runs cold at the sight of Altair emerging from the shadows. Jin swallows hard. She watches in silence, frozen in place, as he calmly walks up to the Malik's desk.

"I was reviewing our supplies. Looks like we are a bit short on tar and metals. I was about to ask permission to make a quick trip to Damascus, but it seems I have disturbed you two. My apologies, I shall take my leave now." Altair's voice is cold and emotionless. He does not even spare her a glance as he turns and stride out of the office.

Malik scoffs lightly. Takes one look at her horrified expression and mutters, "Go to him. He obviously misunderstood." Jin nods numbly. Quickly excusing herself, she turns and runs after Altair.

Her footsteps echo loudly in the empty halls. Every man they can spare is manning the fortress outside, or scouting the perimeter for the inevitable attack. The Templars are less than a day's ride away, and tension everywhere is running high.

"Altair! Wait!" Jin gasps out. It seems like he literally turned a corner and disappeared. She hastily looks around, but she cannot find him. Jin steps out into the Garden, and shivers a bit at the afternoon chill. No sign of any one.

Despair hits her like a heavy blow. She wraps her arms around herself. Jin walks along against the gray granite walls, swallowing the hard ache in the back of her throat. Cursing herself for not being able to speak up when Altair first appeared and for letting such a situation happen. It is so ironic that she sought out Malik for his behalf. And now it has come to this.

She does not receive any warning. In fact, Jin does not even hear him. But all of a sudden she finds herself slammed against the stone wall, the pain in her back swiftly forgotten as her mouth is assaulted by another's. A familiar taste.

"Altair?" She breathes. A growl escapes his lips as their mouths clashes over and over. His tongue demands entrance, pushing forcefully into her mouth. He grips her shoulders in a bruising grip. Jin pushes back, he stops her from moving. His chest, so hard and unyielding, crushes her breasts, barely allowing her to breath.

He moves down. One hand tugging insistently at her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her throat. He begins the same treatment with his mouth on the soft skin of her neck. She feels teeth graze at the sensitive skin. And she trembles.

"You… are mine." The harsh, biting words reach her hazy senses. Viridian eyes widen in alarm. Jin tries to meet his gaze, but he does not meet hers.

For the first time since she has met him, Altair does not seem to be completely in control. His breaths come ragged. His movements erratic and coarse. And his voice, hissing incoherencies against her skin, has an undercurrent of pain.

The unexpected sound of ripping cloth drags her back to reality. "No… not out here…" She protests weakly. But her leggings are already sliding down. His other hand is under her shirt, possessively grabbing a breast. A moan escapes her. His mouth swallows the sound. Hushing her effectively. He releases her hair, and she can feel the tip of his arousal pressing against her entrance.

She wants to tell him to wait. That she is not ready for him yet. But she cannot find her voice. A tiny part of her is relieved. When she was chasing after him, the intense feeling of despair was so painful she does not think anything can come close in comparison. Now that she has him in her arms again, how can she say no?

Altair is pressed so tightly to her that he might as well be trying to merge their two bodies. Every forward grind of his hips is torturous. And the pain, when it does come, is almost as sharp as the first time. Jin whimpers, but he shows no sign of stopping. He sets an merciless pace, thrusting hard and fast. She can feel flesh tearing, but she does not dare make a sound. Jin clings to his shoulder, her soft cries intermingling with his low grunts. The assassin buries his face in the crook of her neck. Inhaling her scent like it can save him from inner demons. He finishes quickly. His entire body freezes, and then shudders his release inside of her. Panting lightly, he seeks to re-establish himself.

Jin is at a loss. This is not how it is supposed to be. She feels cold inside. Numb like she is frozen. She knows she was at fault earlier. But this. The rough treatment shocks her to the core. And all of a sudden she cannot bear to be touching him.

He is still inside of her. Altair faintly registers through the angry haze in his mind. With the starting realization of the extent of his actions, the first traces of disgust start to materialize. Like a wave breaking upon the shore, revulsion, loathing, crashes down upon him. Drowning him in their unforgiving embrace. He cannot even look at her. He does not want to see the abhorrence, the revulsion marring her pretty features, but most of all he cannot bear to see her pain. What exactly compelled him to do such a thing?

Altair has heard many of the elders talk of the ugly, entrapping vines of jealousy. Of how many men have fallen to it, no matter how high their pedestal. And few can completely escape. Altair had no idea of its insidious nature… until now.

He suddenly draws back. Almost the same time as when she pushes him away. Without his support, Jin slowly sinks to the ground, her legs shaking. He sees the trickle of dark crimson on her inner left thigh, and curses inwardly.

"I…" Altair hoarsely breathes. He stares pointedly at the ground. The words "I am sorry" is stuck in his throat. Refusing to come out. His left hand, the one without the ring finger, comes up to gingerly cup her face. He needs assurance. A signal. Anything to tell him she is still alright and not broken.

Jin flinches from at his touch. He draws back as if burnt.

He stands a scant few inches in front of her, but suddenly it seems as if he is miles and miles away. An apology, half-choked and half whispered, comes out of his lips. But she does not hear him. She does not even notice when he walks away, the shame and remorse making guilty prints in the soft grass.

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The incoming winter is a cold one indeed. Fast, whipping wind that cuts to the bone like a knife. The sky is always full of gray and looming clouds, as if dreading the impending battle. And when the first flake of snow fell, the Templars arrive at the gates.

Masyaf is divided in two parts. One, the assassin's fortress carved into the side of the mountain. And the other lower region, the modest city-town with a marketplace and residential areas. But due to the size and range of the town, the early founders decided to concentrate fortifications on the fortress.

The Brotherhood has already warned its residents. All of those who could leave did, and for those who cannot, they take shelter within the stony walls of the fortress. The usually quiet halls are filled with mothers trying to shush their babies' cries, and the occasional argument between families.

But the busiest and nosiest is the infirmary. From even the first day, inmates begin pouring in by the handful, and Jin finds herself completely occupied with work. She is not fighting in the front lines, but working at the infirmary where her skills are more needed. However, that does not spare her from the horrors of war. Instead, she sees all the gory aftermath.

Open, gaping wounds which will later prove fatal. Skulls bashed in with internal bleeding. Sword and arrow wounds that are infected or has pus leaking out. Amputated limbs and unmoving corpses.

The injured are many and grotesque. They flash before her at an insane speed. Too soon, she has to say good bye to familiar faces, or even worse, watch them painfully recover only to return later with even more horrifying injuries.

One night as she was making rounds, a hand from the sick beds reaches out and stops her. It is Imad. He was one of the first to ridicule her for she was the only female within the Assassin's ranks. His head is swathed in bandages, and he recently developed a cough which can only be pneumonia. Anyone can tell that he does not have much time left.

"You," he croaks in a weak voice, "bring me some water. Please."

Jin nods stiffly. She fetches a bowl of water, props him up, and holds it steady as he drinks slowly. But he cannot take more than two sips before he started coughing again. Huge, heaving coughs that sound disturbingly liquid.

"My head… it hurts."

Jin answers quickly, "I will fetch you some medicine to relieve the pain."

"No!" Imad desperately reaches for her again. "Do not leave me. I fear…" There is panic in his voice, and it compels her to sit down by his bedside. "I fear… I may not live to see the next day." Jin has nothing to say to that. When a man knows his time, there is no use arguing with him.

He gasps out between painful heaves, "I-I am sorry. For the way I treated y-you before. Having a women in our r-ranks was un-unprecedented." The sickly man grips her hand tight. "I-I do not want your forgiveness nor do I deserve it. But… I am glad you are not out there. Fighting and risking your life."

This is unexpected. Those are the last words she thought she would hear from him. Struggling for words, Jin manages a quiet "Thank you." She squeezes his hand comfortingly.

Suddenly, another coughing fit seizes him. From her experience, she can already see what is going on. Mucus is slowly gathering in his lungs, causing a rattling sound whenever he coughs. They eventually will prevent him from taking in any oxygen, and he will essentially drown. When he finally finishes, he collapse back into the bed, exhaustion forming beads of sweat on his brow.

"I do not want to die…" his dark eyes pleaded with hers. "Does that make me a coward?"

His grip tightens around her hand. "No," she whispers with a constricted voice.

He begins wheezing. Death is already upon him, and the most appalling thing is that he can feel it.

"No!" He coughs. "I am n-not r-ready…" A heavy gasp. "I wish…I want…"

" Please…" Jin tries to calm him. But all she can do is helplessly look on as he struggles for his last breath.

"I need more time. Allah, spare me-" A wet gurgle interrupts his final words. He chokes. His eyes roll up and his limbs twitch sporadically. Jin gasps out as his fingers squashes hers in a bruising grip. She is openly crying now, the tears streaming down her pale cheeks at his agony.

He does not die swiftly. Nor without pain. It is one of the most ghastly ways to go.

And she stays with him. Till the very end. Until his body is finally still. The pulse of life already gone but his skin still faintly warm. Jin sobs. She falls down on the floor, her face scrunching up with unstoppable tears. She tries, unsuccessfully, to pull her hand out of his grasp, but finds herself out of strength.

Death has always been her enemy. That is why she chose to learn medicine. To save the sick and ailing. But to witness such a one-sided fight, no, a massacre, is just too much for her already frail psyche.

Its unbearable weight slams down on her. Crushing her. Suffocating. Until fatigue eventually numbs her limbs and lowers her eyelids. Still crying with shuddering breaths, her head falls down to rest against their still connected hands. She finds herself in a downward spiral towards blackness, and eventually she loses the battle against unconsciousness.

It is much later when a shadow detaches itself from the darkness. A pair of blood-stained hands skillfully untangle her bruised fingers from Imad's cold grasp. One hand goes up to shut the dead body's eyes, and a quiet prayer is murmured. Capable arms lift Jin gingerly, as if she is made from fragile glass, and carry her out of the infirmary.

He notes how light she is with a scowl. She hardly makes a dent in the mattress as he lays her down. A strand of gold lies astray on her temple, and while his hand yearns to reach out and tuck it back, his conscience stays his hand. He pulls away, and with heavy footsteps, takes his leave quietly.

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"Safety and peace, Altair."

The assassin lifts his head tiredly, and nods at Malik. He does not bother to move from his position on the bed as he lies face down in exhaustion.

"What news?"

"We have successfully deflected the first wave. They have camped a few kilometers south of our gates, and have prepared to settle down for a siege."

"Then I suppose it is time for the second installment of the plan?"

Malik scrutinizes his comrade carefully. "Whenever you are ready. Although it does look like you can use a few days of rest. When was the last time you slept?"

"Four days ago. If I recall correctly." Comes the weary answer.

"You are not sleeping in your room," Malik observes. He is referring to the tower room which Jin is occupying. Altair's more spacious bedroom is currently housing refugee families from town. "And as much as I enjoy your presence on my bed, I would rather share with the fairer sex."

A humorless chuckle comes muffled from the sheets. Altair lifts his dark head, and looks at Malik. "That much is apparent. Given your behavior a few days ago."

The older man sighs. He walks pass Altair, and stands resignedly by the window, leaning forward with one hand on the sill.

"You presume too much." Malik's words are crisp and succinct.

"But it did make me think. Exactly what claims do I have of her? I cannot marry her. I cannot give her status. I cannot even properly protect her. Not as the person I am now," Altair mutters dejectedly into the shadows. "She would be better off by your side."

"She would," Malik agrees instantly.

"Then why not?" Altair growls.

"That is not for me to decide," he answers simply. "Feelings are not something to be forced upon others."

The assassin turns onto his back. He brings his hand to his face. The space where the ring finger should be seems to be mocking him as he clench and unclench four fingers.

"An assassin's emotions can never be revealed. For when he loses control, he leaves himself and others vulnerable and in danger," Altair quietly quotes from their earliest training. Malik nods in agreement.

"That is… the absolute truth."

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A white robe slinks into the enemy's camp under night's guise. The daggers fly straight and true, one in a guard's jugular, and the other into the heart. Quickly, he swoops down and finishes the dying soldier, silencing him with a twist of the neck before he can alert others.

With a bloody hand, the assassin lifts the tent flap slowly. A sleeping form awaits for him at the very end. Clothed in rich velvet and silks, the luxurious contents within tells him he has the right one. The high officer.

No hesitation in his steps, Altair pads silently forward. He glides effortlessly over to the bedside. With a flex of his hand, the hidden blade slides out with an inaudible sound.

"Rest in peace," he murmurs and deals the fatal blow.

As he makes his way past the other various tents, he signals to the archers waiting up in the cliffs. The Templar's supply lines are scantly defended. No surprise, as Masyaf's unforgiving terrain makes it hard to repel attacks. Especially those coming from above.

A storm of arrows come whistling down, alighting the camp in fiery, orange flames behind him. Altair walks on calmly. The sounds of chaos and destruction barely reaching his senses.

This is the third one of the night. There are two of them left. Without supplies, the main Templar army will not be able to survive the harsh winter. According to Malik's calculations, they will be forced to retreat in three months.

But all Altair can see is the haze of red. It swirls and hovers on the edge of his vision, and his ultimate objective, his absolute goal of peace, seems even further away.

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She cannot keep the scant breakfast of milk and bread down. Jin bends over and retches into the chamber pot. When she is done, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. A disturbing idea materializes in her mind, and with a tight throat and unsettled stomach, she heads towards the infirmary. An hour later, she has her answer.

She had expected it. Hell, she even planned for it. But the news that she is pregnant does not bring the elation or joy she had wanted. Instead, it is a fear that burdens her. Responsibility, uncertainty, and apprehension are chaining her down and she does not know what to make of it.

A few weeks ago, she would have automatically turned to Altair. To her safe haven. But ever since the incident in the Garden, she has not seen a trace of him. Nor does she want to see him. Once again, he disappears into thin air. Always in the edge of her vision, but never appearing in front of her. She wonders just how big Masyaf can be, if he can continually avoid her for weeks. Part of her is grateful for his absence, but another part is also saddened by it.

So the young woman digs herself deeper underneath the covers. It is so very cold at night. She misses his warmth. Craves his solid presence that radiates self-assurance. And when she cannot bear it anymore, she writes to Yasmin. She does not explicitly disclose her pregnancy, as her mail will undoubtedly be read, but she words the letter so that her dear friend will know what exactly is going on.

The courier pigeon, a pudgy little fellow, takes off into the gray morning sky, taking all her hopes, her misery, and her loneliness along with it.

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Spring comes, and the Templars are retreating. With their supply lines cut and their strategic officers dead, the army's morale is low and the ones left in charge are at a loss of what to do.

Malik was right. He always is.

Their methods are not honorable. It is insidious and underhanded and they all know it. It is not a glorious victory. In fact, there are no signs of smiles or celebration within Masyaf. Only weary gray faces and fewer comrades.

His black, austere robes swishing around him, Malik enters the infirmary. His critical gaze takes in the number of injured, and he inhales sharply. Both sides suffer heavy losses. One third of their ranks are either dead or missing. Another one third suffers casualties. Only a small dozen men are blessedly in good health.

Malik thinks of Altair with his gaunt face and bloodshot eyes. Very few men in good health.

The sounds of retching grab his attention. He walks over to the open door of the washroom, and to his surprise, finds Jin inside. Her tousled blonde hair completely covers her face as she leans over, but looking at the contents in the porcelain sink, there are no doubts in his mind she is the one vomiting.

In a matter of seconds, he reaches her side. His hand comes up hold her hair aside as she gives up more of her body's content into the sink.

"What is going on?" He demands of her when she eventually looks up.

"I am fine," Jin mutters stubbornly. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. And hides the hand behind her back.

Malik curses loudly. "Like hell you are! Did you have Master Shafiq look at you? What kind of sickness do you have?" His hand goes to grip her shoulder, and it is all he can do to restrain from shaking the answers out of her.

To his utter amazement, a red blush appears on her cheeks. Jin cannot meet his eyes. He realizes where exactly his hand is, and he lets go of her slowly.

"Forgive me, that was uncalled for." His dry tone of voice suggests anything but. She is still not looking at him, but chooses to finger the hem of her loose shirt nervously. When minutes pass without her saying anything, the realization hits him.

Malik finds himself at a loss for words. Barely containing his embarrassment, he says simply, "I see." He runs his hand through his dark hair nervously. Opens his mouth to say something, but then clamps it shut. Clears his throat. Tries again, but nothing comes out. Giving up, he turns and prepares to head out the door. Turning his head slightly, he asks her grimly, "The father does not know does he?"

Jin shakes her head.

"Well you best tell him soon. He makes to depart Masyaf in a week." With that, angry, quick strides carries him out of her sight.

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It was hard to pin down the elusive assassin. It was even harder to sum up the courage to confront him.

Jin eventually finds him in the master bedroom. The refugees have already left, and there is nothing but empty cots littering the room. Altair stands in the middle, fastening his weapons on his person, and packing clothes into a bag. He pauses when he realizes her presence.

"Greetings," she ventures cautiously.

"Hello," he replies calmly. He finishes his task efficiently, and slings the bag over his shoulder.

"You are leaving?" she asks as he passes by. Hating how there is an edge of desperation in her voice. Altair does not turn. He nods.

"I depart for Acre."

_For Maria…_

Jin counts back the months. Sickened to her stomach, she realizes the other woman is due to give birth soon. Feeling as if she is losing a battle of attrition, Jin takes a few steps towards him. Takes a firm grip on his sleeve.

"Stay." It was more of a request than a command. Because he listens to no one. Jin wonders despairingly when she has turned out like this. Like a clingy wife hanging onto a wayward husband.

Altair looks down at her with detached gentleness. He disengages himself from her grasp and murmurs, "I will be back."

He takes a few steps forward, and she can no longer hold it in. The words fly out of her mouth without any more thought.

"I am… with child," Jin blurts out.

Altair freezes mid-step. Turns around, and regards her with disbelief. "Pregnant? Are you sure? We have not … since…" His eyes darken dangerously as he recalls the last time. Shame and guilt washes over him again, and he thinks he cannot ever be clean. Not like an assassin will ever be purged of his sins.

Jin also looks uncomfortable. She replies in a hushed whisper, "Yes."

"I thought you take precautions?"

"Well… it is not a guarantee. And at that time I was … unprepared." Her forest green eyes lowers. A flush appears on her face, and he has the gut-wrenching feeling that she is lying.

Stony topaz narrows their gaze at her. He takes a step closer but then stops. For whatever reason she feels like she has to lie to him, he has no right to judge. In the end, it is still his behavior that is infinitely more deplorable. But the feelings of betrayal grip him, hardening his heart.

"I…have made a promise that I intend to keep. I apologize, but nothing will hold me back." _Not even you._

She stares down at his chest plate despondently. "Please… just this once. Let me be selfish," she murmurs entreatingly. She blinks, trying to clear the wetness that is forming in the corners of her eyes.

"About last time," Altair straightens unconsciously, "I sincerely apologize for my actions. I may already be a sinner, but that is one wrong that I truly regret to have. And if this is divine retribution, I shall gladly accept it. Farewell, for now. I shall return soon."

He turns away, not wanting to look upon her anymore. He does not see the damage his words causes. Or else he would have elaborated on its meaning. But Altair, a man who faces forward and walks the path ahead, does not turn back.

His statement leaves her stricken. Green eyes stare at his retreating back in astonishment.

The baby is a punishment? The tiny life, who is already growing inside of her, is unwanted?

Vision blurring with tears, Jin sinks to the ground. Her silent cry echoes down the empty halls, carrying her unheard pain and scattering it in the wind.

* * *

Notes: So this chapter was very difficult. If you have read this far, I think you would understand. Believe me, I do not enjoy doing these things to my character, but I have already planned this out, and it is necessary for plot movement. In typical Lelouchian philosophy: Must burn everything to the ground in order to start anew. Sorry it took so long. School's been busy, and I kept re-writing this chapter until it had the emotional impact I want.

- Adultery for women had severe punishments (stoning/death) in Middle East. And just being seen with a male stranger can be constituted as adultery, so what Malik and Jin were doing is definitely questionable. Only issue here is that Jin is technically "Altair's women" but is not formally married. While his actions are not justified, Altair's intense reaction is most likely a byproduct of those beliefs. I realize for us modern women reading this will be disturbing, but for that time, I think Altair is (relatively) lenient. Game producers also probably plays down the chauvinistic aspect to appeal to audience, but you kind of can tell it's there.

- War is not glorious. I think Jin is finally realizing what being an assassin/ being with an assassin entails. She has always seen Death as an opponent, but Altair sees it as a necessary instrument/friend sometimes. We shall see if they can overcome that obstacle.

-Altair's still confused about what he wants. With so many years of emotional training, it means he will still be clueless of his feelings for at least another chapter. Lol I do not like emo/angsting Altair. It is pretty OOC in my opinion. Oh and for the last scene, where Jin misunderstood his meaning, Altair meant he is being punished by having to choose between two women and the fact he has to leave her temporarily due to his previous promise. I don't know... too sleep-deprived to make much sense of anything right now.

- Embarassed Malik= cute Malik haha


	19. Chapter 19

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Chapter 19

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Yasmin Sal Dijn, wife of Jamal Sal Dijn, marches through the dreary streets of Acre with fury in her steps. When the Assassin's Bureau comes into view, she has the notion to storms in through the front door with not a care for followers or potential spies. And cause a ruckus loud enough so that the guards on the utmost tower of the Templar's Hold can hear her.

Fortunately, years of training usurps that notion and she finds herself sneaking in as usual through the courtyard.

"You!" she yells at the familiar figures of Master Assassin and Rafiq. Both men look up immediately at the uncharacteristically forceful sound of her voice. "Why are you here?"

"I beg your pardon?" Altair calmly turns to face her. She is like a wildfire, eyes blazing and teeth flashing.

"Why are you in Acre of all places? Is it because of that Templar woman? Just how important is she that you would leave Jin all by herself? She is carrying your child!" The Rafiq makes an odd choking sound in the background, and quickly excuses himself from the conversation.

Altair closes his eyes. Breathes in deeply. "I have a previous arrangement I need to see to. Once I am done here, I will immediately head back to Masyaf. I have already told Jin of this."

"Just what are you playing at?" Yasmin hisses. She realizes she is making a scene in front of one of the most important and revered individual in their Brotherhood. But anger fuels her on. "Exactly where does your loyalties lie?"

"With the people. As it has always been. I have made a promise and I intend to keep it." He almost cringes at the frailty of the words. Such a useless, flimsy shield against Yasmin's furious verbal assault.

"Then start with the person, no, soon to be two people who are most important to you! Have you no sense of duty as a father?"

Deadly amber flashes in anger at her words. Altair whips around to tower over the shorter woman. "Yasmin Sal Dijn, do not dare challenge me in matters of honor and duty. In this organization, we are all bound by its unyielding strings. Do not assume you know all there is to the phrase "duty" just because you have married a man for our cause. Men lay down for their lives for us everyday, and it is only right that I acknowledge their sacrifice with sacrifices of my own. Kaddar knew what it means to put others before himself, as well as his older brother."

Yasmin seems to deflate at his cruel words. She hangs her head, her gaze refusing to meet his. Thinking the conversation over, Altair makes his way in the direction of the Rafiq.

"She loves you. Does that mean nothing to you?" Her words, quiet and hushed as they are, reach him like a blow.

Altair stops. Closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His hands ball into tight, painful fists.

"More than it should."

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The skies are clear the day his first born comes into the world. The midwife and another girl servant shooed him out of the room once the labor pains began. They should have known better.

At the first cry of the infant, Altair swings himself into the room by the open window. Ignoring the indignant outcries from the women, he makes his way over to Maria. The babe is a tiny little thing, and after cleaning him, the midwife hands him over to the mother with a disapproving look at the new father.

"Say hello to your father," Maria murmurs. The child who was crying a moment ago, quiets instantly in his mother's arms. Altair gingerly brushes his finger against the pink skin of the newborn, and marvels at the miracle.

"Have you decided on a name yet?" he asks as he gazes down in quiet wonder. Maria smiles.

"Gawain. It means hawk of battle. An appropriate name, considering his parentage and how much struggle he put up coming into this world."

"A fine name. For a fine warrior," Altair confirms proudly. The soft look Maria has while gazing upon their child has him wishing he does not have to speak his next words.

"When he is of age, I will take him to Masyaf, where he will stay and be trained in our ways-" Altair pauses midway at the expression in Maria's face.

She looks up aghast. Maria pulls away from him. "Y-you cannot! How dare you separate a mother from her child!"

"But it is the assassin's tradition. I, myself, was taken from my parents at an early age for training."

"I will sooner take a blade to his throat than have another child of mine taken from me," she says with fierce conviction as she clutches the babe closer. The assassin almost flinches. She is a violent, passionate woman. That is part of her charm and the allure. And with a threat like that, he undoubtedly believes her.

Altair holds up his palms, a calming gesture. The newborn begins to cry.

"We will discuss this later. Please, rest and be at peace."

He feels out of place here. With Maria's eyes glaring accusingly at him, and a son that he does not have a claim to.

On the way back, his mind full of confusion and scenarios, Altair almost misses the messenger bird perched near the pigeon's coop. The red band on the bird's leg tells him it is a message of high priority. He immediately extracts the rolled-up slip of paper and reads.

Malik's handwriting, always so formal and neat, is slanted with panicked haste:

_Your presence is required back here. This is urgent. _

_-M_

He crushes the note instantly. The fact Malik did not even bother writing in code means he has no time to waste. He will ride for Masyaf that night.

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Malik will not speak to him. Only points him to the infirmary and remains standing stiffly by the large paned window in his office. Altair comes across the head physician, a man named Shafiq, and nods in greeting.

"You must be here to see Jinan," the elderly man says.

A chill runs down his spine at the man's words. "Yes… I am. Tell me, what happened?"

"She… suffered a miscarriage a week ago. Most likely due to too much stress and malnourishment. And three nights before, she has attempted to poison herself. We have stabilized her condition, but have not found a working antidote for the poi-" Altair does not even bother hearing the rest. He tears through the infirmary, eyes scouring each bed until he stops in front of one.

He can hardly believe that the small, still form he finds in the farthest corner belongs to Jin. Her hair splays out like withered flowers on the pillow. Her face, so ghostly pale she might as well have been a specter of death, is disturbingly void of expression. One of her arm lies on top of the blanket, and with growing horror he sees blue veins crawling over a skeletal joints. Her hand rests on her stomach. A very flat stomach.

"What… is this…" He exclaims.

Master Shafiq comes to stand next to him. "She stirs from her sleep once in awhile. While she is awake, she refuses to eat and will not listen to any one. At this rate, I fear..." The old physician trails off emotionally. With a comforting pat on the Master Assassin's shoulder, the older man leaves the room wordlessly.

Altair stands frozen. He cannot see it. A life without one of the most stable aspect of his life. To never see Jin smile again, or laugh, or cry, or get angry and blush that beautiful rosy color of hers. He cannot imagine. She was always there. Waiting for him, and now to see her like this...

And so Altair does something he has never done before. He takes out the Apple of Eden from the pouch that is always on him. Places the golden artifact in Jin's hand, and then covers it with his own. Altair leans over. He fervently places a silent prayer, a sincerely selfish wish against the odds, and entreats upon the Apple to make it happen.

Hot, golden light shimmers from the Piece of Eden. It grows, expands, until it bathes the entire room in its soothing glow.

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Jin awakens to the scent of bathing oils and the melodic trickling of water. The air is filled with steam, and her half lidded eyes register blurry patches of cream and peach. She recognizes the ivory and abalone inlays on the tiles, the same ones in Yasmin's private bath.

Ah, another dream. She has been having many of those recently. While drifting in and out of consciousness, she finds herself living other lives. Some wonderful, and some gruesome. But all infinitely better than her own miserable reality.

Warm bathwater envelops her in a soothing embrace. Her entire body feels light. A gentle cloth glides over her, lovingly washing her skin. A splash of water, and she utters a sound of contentment. Leans back, but instead of meeting the cool tiles of the edge, makes contact with an arm.

"Who?" she murmurs drowsily.

The person does not answer. But continues to wash her. The warmth of the water is so relaxing, and she is not going to protest. The washcloth starts from her neck, travels down a shoulder, envelops her atrophied arm, and massages her thin hands. Carefully, it wraps around one finger, stroking each digit in a tender manner, taking its time, before moving onto the next.

"Yasmin?" Jin ventures a guess.

"No." A deeper, more masculine voice answers. It sounds so far away. Does not register in her head and Jin finds herself not really caring or alarmed.

"Oh. What are you doing then?" She smiles into the thick steam. A quiet chuckle answers her.

The washcloth makes its journey to her back. And a hand steadies her by the stomach, and the cloth begins to make lazy circles on her backside, mindful of her scars. She can feel her body relaxing. The tension loosening. The negative thoughts slowly seeping away with each stroke.

"I am washing you."

The hand makes its way to the other shoulder, and begins the same lavish treatment as with the previous arm. Jin sighs. Her eyelids feel so heavy. And even if she does open them, what if she discovers this is all a dream?

"But why?" She leans into the touch. Breathes in the smell of clean linen, and the freshness of the wind. It is so very familiar. But she cannot quite put a finger to it…

"Do you not want to be clean?" the voice asks softly. She ponders for a bit.

"No, I suppose not. Do I deserve to be?"

"Yes." Comes the firm answer. "Very much. More so than many others, you deserve to be clean."

This dream is so odd. She blinks as her hands travel upwards, following the muscles of the arm to where it connects to a bare shoulder. Her hand comes to rest at his cheek, where rough stubble grazes her questioning fingers. It feels too real to be imaginary.

Her mind is coming back to her. The voice, she remembers it. Jin blinks again. Trying to make sure it is reality and not her wistful imagination.

"You came back," she whispers disbelievingly. She still cannot see him, but she knows he is there. Holding her, bathing her, cherishing her broken body.

He finishes with his task. The cloth comes up to cup her face upwards, and she sees a pair of molten gold looking down upon her. There is much unsaid in his gaze. Understanding, gentleness, and concern. Tears come to her eyes, and she chokes out, "T-the baby… I-."

"I know," he softly cuts in. His thumb comes up to wipe at both of her wet cheeks. "It does not matter. I did not lose you."

His strong arms lift her by the underside of her arms. Seeing that she is too weak to support herself, he wraps a soft towel around her nakedness, and he settles her against his chest as they both sit on the edge of the bathing pool.

"Did you know how hard my heart was pounding as I saw you lying there on the infirmary bed? It seemed like you were no different from a corpse. I feared for the worst," he murmurs in her ear. She has a hard time focusing on his words. His heat is so close. Each breath tickling her wet skin.

His arm goes around to wrap around her waist. Not too tightly, but a comforting weight on her now concave stomach. He drops his forehead to the nape of her neck. "Forgive me," he utters in a hoarse voice.

"For what?" Jin asks as she dully gaze off into the distance. She has heard too many apologies. They all sound the same now.

"For not being there to protect you." His right hand comes to rest on her heart. "For...too many things. An apology does not even begin to do it justice."

"Please… say no more." Listening to his pain, even though she has decided to close her heart, still manages to cause her anguish. And this moment is just too wonderful to be spoiled by regrets.

Altair kisses the exposed skin of her shoulder. "Will you be able to stand?"

"I honestly do not know." Her voice is still frail and wavering. But she is regaining strength as she leans his solid body. His energy, his warmth, his unyielding force. She wants to absorb all of those into her feeble frame, and she almost feels alive again.

They remain unmoving from their position. Him taking comfort in her beating heart and her breaths. Her rediscovering the feeling of living within the strength of his arms.

"… stay like this forever." He mumbles sleepily into her damp hair. She smiles and silently agrees. His hand goes to touch her necklace. He wants to tell her what he has found in foreign lands. How she may possibly have family in a far away country.

But what can happen afterwards is what he is truly scared of. Jin might decide to stay with her new-found relatives. She might cut ties with the Brotherhood and with him. And the thought of it is intolerable. It is what prevented him from bringing up the subject for so long.

Now as he holds her feeble body close, he comes to a decision. She deserves to know. Her life with him has been nothing but suffering, and as the one responsible, he should be offering all her available choices in front of her. Jin is not a bird he can keep caged within his embrace. It is time to set her free.

"You and I… we shall take a trip once you recover," the assassin murmurs. Jin nods slowly, too tired to question him further. "But for now, just let me hold you for a bit longer."

She wonders why his words sound like a farewell. But the hazy steam, the intoxicating scent of the bathing oils, and the hypnotizing beats of Altair's heart are like notes of a familiar lullaby. And she quickly falls asleep in his arms.

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Masyaf is slowly rebuilding itself. Repairs on damaged buildings. Replenishment of supplies. And most importantly, the recruitment of more trainees. The fortress is bustling with activity. Full fledged assassins in white are now less in numbers. Instead there are many more grey novices, eager and counting the days till they earn their blades. The higher ranked masters find themselves with a few more students than before.

The dead is mourned, celebrated, and then cast into the immortal mold of memory. And life goes on. As it always does.

But while Masyaf is reviving itself, there is one who is not.

When she has recovered enough to walk, Jin makes it a habit to pay regular visits to the marketplace. She cannot bear to stay within the cold, sterile halls of the Brotherhood. Nor does she enjoy walks in the Garden, working at the infirmary, or strolling around the stables like she used to. They remind her too much of failure. Too much of a prison.

And always, there is Altair. Either walking besides her, or tracing her footsteps. It seems that he will not let her out of his sight.

She is dully examining the pottery stall, when there is an unexpected push from behind. Altair steadies her before she knows it. Jin glances back, and sees the running backside of a little child.

"Boys," she tries to smile in reassurance at her companion, "Always up to trouble no doubt."

Altair's face is dark. He follows the boy's movement with narrow eyes. "Check your money."

Jin searches for her coin purse, and just as Altair anticipated, finds it gone. She looks up at him in surprise, but white-robed assassin is already gone. Understanding dawns upon her, and she quickly follows after them.

The thief is obviously experienced. He weaves in and out of passageways, merges himself in the crowd, and it is only after ten minutes that he stops to dump out the contents of Jin's purse. Altair wastes no time. He drops down from the overhand, corners the urchin in the alley, and grabs the boy's arm before he can escape.

"I take it you know the punishment for your crimes," the man says in a serious voice.

"Let go!" The street urchin cries out. Desperately tries to wrench his arm free. The little boy's eyes widen in horror as the assassin's hidden blade slides out of its sheath. "No! I promise I will not do it again! I am… hungry…" Altair's face remains unreadable. He raises the blade, fully intending to only scare the boy so he will think twice before stealing again. But Jin rounds the corner at that exact moment.

"Altair! Stop!" Jin rushes by, out of breath and clearly misinterpreting his intention. She puts herself in between the assassin and the boy. "He means no harm! Look, look at how skinny he is." Altair does not move. But watches with hidden interest at her sudden burst of energy.

Jin turns to the youth. "You must be so hungry… What is your name?"

"I have none. Don't need one," the boy all but spat back at her.

She tilts her head. "No name? But what does your parents call you?" Altair shifts slightly. Just by looking at the filthy kid, with oily black hair, his skinny, malnourished limbs, and that wild hungry look on the thin face, he can already guess the answer is.

"No parents. Don't need them either."

Jin stills. No parents… An orphan. Unwanted, forgotten and abandoned. So much like her. Her hand goes to lightly grasp his dirty ones.

"Who takes care of you? Any family?"

"Nah. Got nobody, don't need anyone," the kid sneers. He tries, unsuccessfully to pull his arm free, but Jin holds on fast.

"Orphans are common here. Especially after the recent battle with the Templars. Many children like him have lost his family and now live off of the streets. It will only be a matter of time before they are caught stealing and then they will be dealt with," Altair explains tonelessly. He can see the idea growing in her head. And he already knows what will be his own answer.

"I want to take him in," she announces to Altair. His expression, unreadable as always, does not change. She feels as if she's the one being carefully watched.

"Do you know what it is you are getting into? You will be responsible for taking care of him." He does not add 'like a parent', but the implications are there.

His stern words have no effect on her. She tilts her chin up stubbornly. "Yes. Yes I do. I can feed him, clothe him, and teach him how to take care of himself."

"I can already take care of myself," the boy grumbles loudly, but is ignored by the two adults fighting their own silent battle. He finally takes a good look at the strange woman who is holding his hand. She is fair, with long wavy blond hair that is covered with a gray hood typical of an assassin novice. Except for her unusual coloring, there is really nothing spectacular about her. But she is not one bit scared as she stares back at the intimidating assassin. Standing up for him instead of backing down. And all of a sudden, he decides she might not be so bad.

She is challenging him again. After weeks of seeing her suffering in quiet depression, he sees the reawakening spark. The start of the internal fire that has always drawn him to her. And if the boy is the reason why she returning to her old self... the decision is made almost instantaneously in his head.

"If that is what you wish," he concedes, "then I will permit him to stay." He retracts his hidden blade, and the boy relaxes visibly.

"Well first things first," Jin straightens up, but keeps her grip on the boy, "You need a bath. Right away."

Profanities immediately begins spewing from the orphan's mouth, and she grimaces.

"Need to wash that mouth out too."

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He is right about the boy.

Through his childish enthusiasm, Jin rediscovers the joys of living at Masyaf. Each morning, the two will share a breakfast and head over to the horse stables. Jin teaches him all that she knows about tending to the horses and assigns him chores. She takes him with her on her trips into the woods where she collects medicinal herbs. And in an impressive amount of time, he learns which plants are poisonous, which ones can divert hunger, and which are good for fevers.

As the boy grows taller and gains more weight, he can also see the color returning to Jin's face, and her limbs regaining their vigor as she chases down the boy for his daily baths.

The orphan soon becomes her second shadow. Despite the boy's vehement protesting, everyone can plainly see that he adores Jin. They even sleep together, much to Altair's chagrin. It was the first time that the assassin found himself exiled out of his own room.

"We should name you, or else we will keep calling you boy," the assassin muses out loud one day. The subject himself makes a rude sound, and quickly corrects himself once he realizes who he is talking to. Ever since their first meeting, the boy is still very cautious with Altair, not letting down his guard.

"And when you receive a master as your teacher, he will need a name to call you with."

"Who said I want training?" The boy scowls. He finds himself locked into the piercing gaze of an eagle, and he quickly looks away.

"Do not lie to yourself. I have seen you watching the men spar in the practice ring. I know that expression upon your face. The need to become stronger. The desire to survive. This is something you yourself want," Altair speaks softly. "And also, you have already mastered the basics, seeing how you were able to survive this far as a pickpocket. There is potential for much more, and you would belittle yourself by denying it."

"Are you actually paying Nasir a compliment?" Jin asks with a smirk as she walks into the room. She sits down beside the boy, and begins to towel off his wet hair.

"Is that his name? The helper?" Altair looks back to the sullen boy. Jin is done drying him. She leaves the towel over his newly-cut and washed hair, and it drapes over his head in a fashion very similar to a white assassin's hood. His eyes are dark, but bright with intelligence. They follow Jin's every movement with attention. His shielding body language is not lost upon the assassin.

With a reassuring smile, Altair lays a gentle hand upon Nasir's head.

"It is a fitting name. I have no doubts you will live up to it."

* * *

Notes: Thanks for all the reviews! Even the negative ones, as I do pay special attention to them and I hope to improve as I go along. Or maybe not. It really does depend on the creative juices in the end I would say. It's always at the middle parts of the story where I lose interest/motivation/run into writer's block. When I go back and re-read my earliest chapters I always think "Wow, did I really write that?" Haha... fail.

Scene with Maria and the baby refers to Codex page 24, before it was actually written. I guess when he says someday "I will have a child", he means a child he has claim to. Because of losing her first child, Maria is pretty possessive about this one and he realizes he will have little say in raising the kid. Especially since he's always busy and away.

So... the Apple keeps gaining new powers as the series go on. If I recall correctly, Ezio used it as a weapon, but at the same time it lets him recover health so much faster? So my reasoning assumed that Altair can also partially control the Pieces of Eden to heal because of his lineage. It makes sense in my head. :/ The bath scene might have happened, or it might have not. In my mind, it was partial reality and partial dreaming. Water has been used as a motif for cleaning and rebirth for many other cases of literature, and this case is no different. That scene will be a turning point. Up till that point, Jin has been burdened by jealousy, insecurities, and a whole lot of negativity. The way in which she conceived was also another thing. Now that she has been "cleansed", she is essentially reborn with a fresh start. This perhaps is my fanciful wishing, because nobody gets a free restart on life. But I do believe in the resilience of human nature, and like a burnt tree, there are still parts that are alive and still growing. And with the right amount of care and attention, the tree will flourish again. If you catch my drift... ;D

Yeah, Jin's heritage/history and the necklace. Many readers have brought it up, gave wild guesses, and reminded me about it. Hopefully... all questions will be answered by the next chapter. YAY! (it really will not be a big plot twist or too exciting. Just tossing it out there. It's the journey and how the characters deal with her reunion with her family that's really the main point.)

Now the real burning question: In a verbal spat between Nasir and Malik, who will win? xD

Update: Whatever website I got "Nasir" had the wrong definition. Changed it from "protector" to "helper" b/c I rather go with Wikipedia. lol


	20. Chapter 20

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Chapter 20

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"I have a gift for you."

Jin turns around at Altair's voice. He presents her with a small leather pouch. She gives him a curious look, and then tilts the bag, spilling its light contents into her palm.

At first she does not see anything more than a rusty old necklace. But as she holds it up, her eyes widen in recognition at the familiar design engraved on the medallion.

" My family crest! How-where did you find this?" She asks incredulously, never taking her gaze off of the dulling metal.

"I found this on the island of Cyprus a while back," Altair replies carefully as he watches her reaction. "And in my journey to Europe, I have traced the origins of this necklace to its original owner." He does not mention the fact he had retrieved it from a fanatical madwoman. Or the fact he withheld the information for at least a year.

Seeing as she is not really paying attention to his words, he touches her shoulder gently. "Jin."

"Yes?" she finally replies, snapping out of her daze.

"Once the reconstruction is complete and Masyaf have settled down, I plan to travel overseas again. Would you like to come with me to Europe and meet the rest of your family?"

Tears of joy are springing to her eyes. She wipes at them hastily with her hand but he still sees.

"Yes. I will."

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The towering mountain of paperwork is astounding. The dark-haired man sits behind his desk with a stiff back and shoulders, brandishes his quill pen like a sword. Construction layouts, rebuilding costs, new recruits' evaluations, and information networks. They all need his attention and signed approval.

Not for the first time, the retired assassin wishes he still has both of his arms. Then maybe he can get through the paperwork faster.

"You have summoned me Malik?" Jin asks cheerfully as she enters his office. With a small shadow in toll.

Malik's sharp gaze immediately scrutinizes the boy from head to toe. He has heard about the newest addition. He had to know the reason why Altair no longer sleeps in the tower room, and his adamant refusal to disclose the cause of it.

Then he turns to observe Jin. She looks healthier than he can ever remember. The color has returned to her face, her hair catches the sunlight like gold, and her forest eyes are sparkling with barely contained mischief.

He clears his throat.

"Ah, forgive my rudeness. This is Nasir. I found him living out in the streets, and took him in," Jin states matter-of-factly. She nudges the child to the front, "Nasir, this is Master Malik. He is the head of the Brotherhood, and you should always treat him with the utmost respect."

_At least better than how you act around Altair_, she silent adds.

Nasir snorts. "You don't call him Master Malik. Why should I? And I thought Altair was the Grand Master." At his words, Jin can almost see the hackles rising on Malik.

"Well-"

"Altair is the figurehead that our people follow. I am but the humble vessel which does the Brotherhood's biding," Malik replies without batting an eye.

"So you're sayin'… Altair is the leader but you do all the work?" Nasir asks with a smug smirk. Jin ducks her head, using one hand to cover her smile. The kid is way too smart for his own good.

Malik's austere expression deepens. His livid eyes are now completely focused on the tiny brat standing before him.

"I am merely referring to the fact that each person has their own purpose within the organization. We serve in our own ways, but our ultimate cause is the same. But a mere urchin would hardly be able to comprehend the inner workings of our world."

"But I'm still right."

"No, you are misinterpreting my words. A child should stay quiet and observant. Never to speak out of place. For the fool who actually speaks out and have himself proven a fool is worse off than the fool who stays silent and be only assumed a fool."

Nasir, who can no longer speak without risk being a fool, settles with merely sticking out his tongue and crossing his arms obstinately. Jin puts a restraining hand on Nasir's shoulder. "Looks like you two will get along well in the future. Anyways, is there something else we need to discuss?"

Malik, who is actually not gloating over the small victory, massages the bridge of his nose delicately. "Yes, a bothersome visitor is actually due to arrive this afternoon. Please do see she is properly welcomed and escort her to the empty bedroom we have prepared for her stay. I do not care to deal with her presence more than necessary."

Jin quirks an eyebrow at his words.

_Bothersome? A woman?_

She does not remember when Malik has ever been irritated by a woman. Except of course, the exception being herself. However, comprehension begins to dawn on her when she arrives at city gates and see Yasmin in her travel robes, waving from on top of a horse.

"Jin!" She cries as she flies into her waiting arms. "Thank the heavens you are alright! I was so worried when I got Malik's letter about-" The younger woman stops halfway, her hands covering her mouth in hesitation.

"The miscarriage. Forgive me for worrying you," Jin finishes for her and smiles sadly. Yasmin's comforting presence envelops her as she sinks into her gentle embrace.

"But you are alive and well. That is what matters for me at least," the younger woman breathes out. Jin closes her eyes. And once again savor the feeling of another's concern. It never does fail to amaze her how much they care.

"What brings you back?" Jin asks as the two women climbs their way up to the fortress.

Yasmin grins devilishly. "I am mourning the loss of my husband. So distraught I am, nothing but my own family can comfort me, and so I was sent back from Acre."

Jin gapes at her. "He died?"

"Murdered," Yasmin promptly corrects her. At Jin's look of utter alarm, she quickly adds, "It was all according to plan. I was sent to spy on him the entire time. When I finally had physical evidence against him, Malik ordered his death. I am now my own woman, and much richer now than before."

"I… never knew," Jin murmurs.

"Jin, this is what I was raised and trained for. This is actually a very successful method of subterfuge as we get to stay close to our target for a long period of time. Do not mourn my loss too much, for he was not a kind man." Her brown eyes harden with those words, and all of a sudden Jin remembers the healing bruises on Yasmin's skin.

They reach the west wing of the fortress. Yasmin's old quarters curiously remains the same as when she had left those years ago. Colorful silks drape from the windows and ceilings. Fresh flowers adorn the walls, and the steam of a recently drawn bath drift from the next room.

"Oh thank you Jin. This is such a wonderful surprise," Yasmin beams at her friend.

"Actually, I am sorry to say, but this is not my doing," Jin answers ruefully. At Yasmin's questioning look, she shakes her head. "And I do not know who it is."

"Where is Master Malik?" Yasmin asks suddenly.

"Still busy in his office. He personally sent me down to meet you, claiming he does not have time to handle a 'bothersome woman'," Jin can hardly contain the giggle at the expression on the younger woman's face.

"T-that man! How dare he bad mouth me behind my back!" Yasmin huffs. Turning to Jin with a slight apologetic look, "Sorry Habibi, we will talk more of our adventures later. I have some business to deal with."

Jin smiles knowingly. "Of course. Take your time."

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Malik finishes signing the last of the paper work with a sigh. Carefully putting back his quill pen, he massages the bridge of his nose tenderly. It has been three excruciating hours since he has moved from the desk. The endless amount of words and numbers are swimming in a mess whenever he closes his eyes. He is sincerely glad he is able to finish a bit earlier today. He leans back in the chair and exhales slowly.

The sound of a heavy package hitting the desk makes him sit up abruptly.

His indignant gaze meets a familiar smirking face.

"Stock inventory. buyers' contact information. And most importantly, the sellers' location and identities," Yasmin announces.

"Good. You may leave them here," he tiredly says. When she does not move, Malik raises an haughty eyebrow. "Yes?"

"A bothersome woman am I?" Yasmin asks sweetly. With a deadly glint in her eye. The Dai refuses to show any traces of discomfort as he faces down a most formidable foe.

"Surely you misinterpret my words. I was merely too preoccupied with work to go down and personally greet you. Had it been any other day I can assure you I would be present." His dry tone suggests anything but.

Yasmin leans over the desk. Her face a bit too close for his comfort. "Oh really now? That busy _Master_ Malik?" The mocking emphasis is not lost upon his sharp ears.

Malik resists the urge to lean back into the chair. Her dark eyes are pulling him in. He silently wonders how many men have fallen for those beguiling siren eyes. And the shameless amount of skin she is exposing by leaning over like that. She trained in those arts, and she is damn good at it.

He gestures to the impressive stacks of finished paperwork. "Yes. As you can plainly see."

She straightens up. He detects a victory, but her smile is strangely not of defeat.

"And yet you still remember I like the smell of fresh jasmine? The rosewater used for my bath happens to be my favorite kind too. Looks like you did your research." Her silken smooth words strike him as violently as a sharp blade.

"Purely coincidental. You flatter yourself too much." It is an effort to not stutter. Or to meet her accursed gaze. With as much poise as he can possibly muster, Malik begins to read the first page of her report, wordlessly dismissing her.

Yasmin sighs. She throws up her hands up in exasperation.

"You are a good man Malik. It is a shame you keep hiding behind that desk," she softly murmurs at the top of the stairs. And with that, she leaves him with the barest suggestion of a smile.

xxxxxxxxx

"Why can't you take me with you?" Nasir demands. Altair looks up from his packing. He has already anticipated a confrontation weeks ago. He is only surprised at how long the boy has been holding back.

"The journey is long. The land dangerous, and not a place for children."

"I'm not a child!" Nasir shoots back. Then takes a step back from the imperious look Altair is giving him. "Well… maybe. But I won't slow you down! I can take care of myself, I've been taking care of myself…" Desperation colors his tone, and his eyes are begging when his pride will not let him voice it.

Altair regards him carefully. Slowly, he drops down so that he is eye-level with the boy. He lays a gentle, but firm hand on Nasir's small shoulder.

"Nasir, you are much needed here. We cannot afford to spare any more men after the recent battle. You belong here, and there is no better way to prove yourself than to train and show us how capable you are. Do you understand?" He does not mention that taking him will prevent Jin from making a choice. The boy's presence is a reminder of her responsibilities and ties that bind her to the Brotherhood. Altair wants to bestow upon her true freedom. To present her a decision that is unshackled from burdens and duties. Something that he will never hope to have.

Nasir takes a few moments to digest the information. He then nods slowly. A rare kind of understanding passes between them.

An implicit agreement between two men, men who have precious things to protect and a duty to fulfill.

xxxxxxxxxx

"I absolutely hate good-byes," Jin sniffs as she brusquely wipes at her eyes. She just finished saying her farewells to Yasmin. And before that, it was Nasir. The boy acts so strong, putting up quite an impressively tough exterior, and in the end it is only her that cries.

"Is that why you always disappear without a word?" She casually remarks at the man walking besides her.

Altair grimaces. He does not know which words to say that will comfort her, but he knows for a fact that she will not be the only one shedding tears by the end. They arrive at Malik's office slowly.

"We make to depart for Europe," Altair announces without preamble. Malik glances up at the two of them. He is already well aware of Altair's plans weeks ago. This is nothing but a formality. "All preparations are complete. I will return within the year, and you know how to contact me if anything urgent arises."

Malik immediately notes the usage of "I" and not "we" in the latter sentence. "Very well. Are we gathering here to share our sentimental farewells?"

"Altair," Jin speaks up abruptly, "can I have a few minutes alone with him?" When Altair does not move, she assures him with a smile.

In return, Altair shoots Malik a meaningful look. "I will be waiting at the stables."

"And if she does not appear within the next ten minutes, I will be held at sword point?" Malik drawls in a wry voice.

A smirk appears from under the brim of the hood. "Absolutely."

Jin slowly turns to face the older man. The two stay silent as they listen to Altair's slow descent down the stairs until they cannot detect his presence anymore.

"He means to return alone," Malik suddenly says.

Her eyes widen at his bold statement. "D-does he?" And then indignation seeps into her features with a flush. "Is that really his choice to make?"

Malik chuckles. He gets up slowly from his seat, and walks to his usual spot at the window.

"The truth is the clear, cloudless sky. The eagle can continually strain his wings to fly and touch it, but it is always out of his reach. He tries, over and over again. Until his wings are heavy with fatigue and his spirit is broken.

That is when a tree offers him her branch. He takes her arm, rests his weight on it. She offers him shade with her leaves, and waits for him in the same spot so that he will always know where to find her again," he recites the words like a poem, and then turns to regard Jin.

"So now I ask you, are you that tree?"

"I have not thought of it that way," she wonders appreciatively. She lays a hand gently on his shoulder in a gesture of gratitude. "Thank you Malik. I am very grateful that I was able to meet you. You are truly a great friend to have."

He nods in acknowledgement. "Which ever path you take, I hope you find happiness in the end."

She graces him with one of her smiles, and leaves him standing by the window.

Alone and in solitude.

xxxxxxxxx

She tosses to and fro for the third time. With a tired sigh, Jin props herself up on her elbows, all pretense of sleeping gone.

Altair bartered for their fares on the humble ship. Unfortunately, he 'forgets' to mention how they only have one sleeping quarter available. And how they are traveling as man and wife.

"Much less suspicious this way," he explained patiently as he packs away his assassin robes and dons a gray, inconspicuous outfit. Jin, however, is not amused.

They have been sleeping in separate rooms ever since Nasir's 'adoption'. His presence, although usually comforting, now has her nerves on end. Every touch, no matter how small or accidental, makes her acutely aware they are alone together. She is not sure if she is comfortable with this intimate proximity. But Altair does not seem to mind, and he has not asked anything of her.

Their room is modest. It has a miniature writing desk in one corner, and a single bed in the other. A single candle is lit, and she can make out Altair studiously writing on something.

"Tell me about my family," Jin drowsily asks from her position on the bed. Altair glances up briefly from his notes. "What would you like to know?"

"Everything," she replies easily as she leans her chin on her hands. She watches him as he stretches. Even under the clothing, she can see the muscles rippling with hidden power. The grace in which he moves, not unlike those of a svelte panther, has her mesmerized.

"They are your of your father's side. The eldest sister married well and has the title of baroness. The second eldest, your uncle, helps run a local hospital in near the northern coast. They are the ones we are going to meet." A yawn escapes his mouth.

Jin cannot help but smile. "You seem tired. Come to bed."

"Is that an invitation?" One dark eyebrow quirks up.

"To rest," she finishes. Jin shifts closer to the wall and turns her back to him. Hoping he will take it as a sign of her disinterest.

Eventually, she feels the mattress sink with his weight. She tries to breath evenly, to give the impression of sleeping.

But Altair is not fooled.

"He is well known within the small coastal town. Everyone speaks well of him and praises his skills. He has been married for almost thirty years now, and they have two children," he conversationally continues as he plays with a lock of her blonde hair. "I actually sought him out and spoke with him. He is a kind man, and told me stories about your father."

Jin quickly turns around, giving him her complete attention. "What did he say?" The man cannot help but smile fondly at her enthusiasm.

"That he was a brave man. One of the first to sign up as a doctor for the Crusades. And his wife, your mother, cannot bear to be separated and so she followed him into the battle fields. Now who does that remind me of?" His voice lowers to a rumble as he leans over her.

She swallows hard. Pinned down by his tawny gaze, she once again sees herself in his unyielding eyes.

A girl-no, no longer. A woman. No longer the skinny waif who lived in an attic. Her cheeks are rosy, her chin strong with determination, and her green eyes shining with vitality. A wanted, desired woman by the look of Altair's unwavering gaze.

"Your point?" She breathes out. His mouth descends upon hers, silencing any other thoughts.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It is much later that Jin wakes up. Her bleary eyes take in the form of the sleeping Altair next to her with a sense of nostalgia. How long ago since she last woken up with him by her side?

She takes a moment to quietly admire his face in repose. A stern, unforgiving face. One that has seen and dealt out death so violently. And yet...

Her mind drifts to last night. Recalls the tender way his hands held her. The unbelievably venerable feeling of his touch. As if he is paying homage to a god. The dim lighting from the candle obscured parts of his face. But the part she could see was surprisingly unguarded. Vulnerable even.

He was never one to talk much. But last night her name was uttered from his lips so many times. Breathlessly. Passionately. Till the mere sound of it sends her over the brink.

Last night was not two bodies joining for physical pleasure. It was completely something else.

She blushes. Reaches over for her clothing and prepares to get up.

"And where do you think you are going?" A possessive arm snakes its way around her waist.

"Nature calls," Jin retorts. She turns around to glance at him.

Golden amber peers at her drowsily through half-lidded eyes. Assassins are known to sleep light. So they can be ready and alert if danger beckons. And yet Altair looks anything but awake. She giggles. It is quite adorable.

He frowns at the sound. Pulls on her more insistently. "Come back."

"And when did I follow your orders?" she teases him. On a capricious whim, Jin leans over and kisses the stubble on his jaw lightly. "I will."

He looks so peaceful when asleep, she silently notes when she re-enters the room. She does not want to disturb him, and instead wanders over to the desk.

His notes are scattered messily on the table. So unlike Malik's. But then again, they are perfect opposites.

She is tempted to organize them, and is just about to reach over when she notices the other object. A round sphere. Seemingly made of metal and with odd engravings around it.

Altair carries it on his person always. Hides it from view from others like it is some rare treasure. He does not even let her touch it.

What did Malik call it? A Piece of Eden?

Curiosity beckons to her. And as she draws near, the metal ball actually begins to glow. Its call, one that is so entrancing, seems to be asking, pleading for her touch.

Altair opens his eyes as the Apple emits its light. Immediately, he takes in the event unfolding in front of him.

"Do not-" But it is already too late.

He watches. Frozen in an amalgam of panic and shock as golden light envelopes Jin's entire body. Too long the Piece of Eden holds her prisoner. Altair was just about to wrench the Apple from her grasp when it stops.

Jin gasps. Falls to the floor in exhaustion. The Piece of Eden bounces, and rolls away harmlessly. It still emits a low hum and a glow, albeit not as strong as before.

"Are you alright?" Altair demands. He drops to the floor alongside of her. Unsure if he should touch her or not. From his own experiences from peering into the artifact, the first couple of minutes of returning to reality are completely disorienting.

Jin only stares at the Piece of Eden in amazement. "What… was that?"

He examines her carefully. She looks to be uninjured. A bit shaken, but otherwise alright. Exhaling the breath he does not know he has been holding, Altair asks, "What did you see?"

She brings a hand to her forehead gingerly. Closes her eyes and concentrates.

"I saw flames. Tall towers of fire that reach to the skies. People were screaming, dying, chaos was everywhere..."

The distress in her voice is an echo of his own when he first saw that vision. He gently cups her face. Pulls her closer so that she can take comfort in his presence.

"I too, have seen those horrible apparitions. Do not dwell too long on those visions. For that is all they are, and nothing more. There is no use worrying over something you have no control over," Altair murmurs as he strokes her tangled hair.

Jin leans into his touch. Breathes in his familiar scent with silent relief. But she cannot let it go. "So you have seen the garden too?"

Altair pauses. "What garden?"

She pulls back. Looks into his piercing gaze and replies, "There is a garden. Or a forest, I cannot tell. But the trees are sparse and not that tall. Grass spans on and on. It is beautiful, even more than the one in Masyaf. And so very peaceful. My favorite tree was there... along with-" Her brows furrow as Jin tries to focus on the vision. Her voice, when she does remember, is no more than a whisper, but he hears her all the same.

"My parents."

* * *

Notes: Aha, who wanted a smex scene? ... You would think after 3 months of waiting I would at least give you one... lol But no. I am inhuman after all. Bwahaha!

It's been 3 months since I last updated. Unbelievable. I offer no excuses, because I don't want to bore you guys with details of my life. lol Sorry to all, I know it's a pain to wait, and thanks for those who kept encouraging (harassing..lol) me to update!

1) I guess there are more things to wrap up. I originally thought I could cover Jin's family/heritage this chapter, but it looks like it's bumped back a chapter. My bads.

2) I don't know if anyone noticed, but Nasir speaks with contractions. That is because I can't think of any other way to portray street slang that he picked up as an orphan. Without writing too much profanities on the way. lol

3) Omg I finally figured out how Malik will seduce a girl. Research. Implementation of thoughtful gesture. And then vehemently deny it. But leaving hints. ;D Utterly adorable.

I'm not sure, but there's been a daily increase of hits. I was looking at # of hits and can't really believe it. How do ppl keep finding this story even though it hasn't been updated in forever? O.o Or are the readers seriously re-reading/checking for updates? haha

Speaking of rereading, I did so myself, the entire fic, till like 4am. What interested me were my notes at the end of the chapters. I seemed like I was having so much fun in the beginning, inserting humor and sarcasm (almost as charming as Malik's) and having those little point battles between characters. I miss that… T_T (But there's nothing to make fun of recently…)

Another thing, I get more and more emotion-oriented with the writing. Always thinking of what the character is feeling or what drives them to do stuff. And going on emotional rollercoasters… I enjoy reading stuff that takes you on a ride, and the most memorable fics I like might not have the best character development, or the most original concepts/plot, but was able to wrench intense reactions from me and gave me visual images in my head throughout the day. And it reflects in my own writing. I realize some ppl don't share those sentiments. That's unfortunate, but to each their own. :D

I also went and read all the reviews. A shout out to:  
**Albatross**- For the assassin's next door smelling like weed comment. I was laughing for awhile.  
**Shutterbuggie** – For another cool art present. :D I've been on Gaia long enough to catch the art whore bug.  
**Daywallker** – For being miraculously alive after walking 10 blocks with your head down reading a fanfic. Hehe  
**PxPmini** – For reviewing in a foreign language! So lucky I chose to learn Spanish in HS.  
**Crimson Firebreeze** – For the sexy eagle god comment. Another lol moment.  
**eliina** – For reading a fanfic during an anime convention. And possibly reading it with others. That's hardcore dude. xP


	21. Chapter 21

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Chapter 21

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_Brother,_

_We have arrived safely in port. It has been a long, trying journey but we have managed to find things to occupy our time. One of which concerns the Apple. _

_In its mysterious depths new visions have surfaced. And they haunt me even in sleep. I keep having reoccurring dreams of another world. All the buildings were made of glass and metal. There were wondrous contraptions that move on their own. And the people there wore such tight-fitting clothing that it is almost like a second skin. There is a entity there. She tells me to find the prophet, and never allows me to ask the questions I want to._

_Jin, on the other hand, has different visions. She claims there was a green garden. In it, dwells those who have passed on. However, the people are not alone. From her description there are ones, who I have been referring to as Those Who Came Before, also living in the garden. The thought is strangely comforting. That there is a place after death…_

_The visions only bring about more questions. None of which I have answers to. I am not even certain if I hold the questions and seek the answers, or if it is the other way around. _

_I must not write anymore. Correspondence is not always a reliable or secure. There will be more to tell once I return. _

_-A_

xxxxxxxxx

"Stop fidgeting."

"I am not. You are the one who looks nervous."

An imperious golden eye turns to regard her. Jin flicks at an invisible speck of dirt at the hem of her tunic. Her weight shifts from left to right, and then right to left. Never does she stay still. Jin does not bother meeting his accessing gaze.

"You are right. I must be," the assassin murmurs in agreement. He, in contrast to her, stands like a statue. Tall, unmoving, his hands lax at his sides but his eyes never ceasing to scan for signs of danger.

A tight smile is all she gives him at his attempt at humor but her gaze is still riveted to the wood grain patterns on the door in front of them. They have been standing there for a good five minutes.

Jin lets out a breath slowly, and finally raises a hand. Before she can knock though, the door suddenly swings open.

"Papa, it is just a trip to the marketplace! My chaperone would be still tying her laces and I will already be back!"

A young woman, with a powdered face and a fashionable dress yells into the house. As she turns she almost bumps into the two silent figures at the doorstep. "Oh!... who might you two be?"

A quick glance to his left. Jin is staring at the other person in frozen silence, obviously not in any condition to speak. Altair clears his throat and addresses the woman.

"We have business with Dr. Guerisse. Is he available?" He asks politely, in fluent French.

The lady looks him up and down appraisingly. With a barely perceptible nod of approval, she turns and yells back into the room, "Papa! There is people here to see you!"

She swivels and addresses Altair with a wide smile, "There you go. Now if you will pardon me…"

He nods and makes room for her to pass. Chances another glance at Jin, whose eyes follow the quickly disappearing flouncing dress in a silent daze.

"Ah… I apologize for my daughter. How may I be of service?" An aging man with graying temples walks out of, but then pauses as he sees Altair at the doorstep. Recognition lights his feature, and unlike his daughter, whose gaze lingered a bit longer on Altair, the doctor's eyes immediately focused on Jin.

He steps slowly toward them. His mouth slightly open and his gaze so intent that it is starting to make her uncomfortable. Dr. Guerisse stops in front of them, and without taking his eyes off of Jin, he asks Altair in disbelief, "Is this…?"

"Yes. Dr. Guerisse, this is Jinan, daughter of your late younger brother," Altair confirms solemnly.

A very undignified sounds comes out of the doctor's lips. Without further warning, he pulls Jin into a clumsy embrace. Caught off guard, she can only reciprocate. Over the elderly man's shoulder, Jin shoots Altair a bewildered look.

"I did not think I would live to see the day that I would get to meet David's child," the doctor pulls back, but does not loosen his strong grip on her shoulders, "You are definitely your father's child. The nose and eyes, so much like David's!" Jin cannot help but smile shyly back. She wishes she had spent more time studying French during their journey. Maybe then she can find the right words to express her feelings at that moment.

Her uncle is such a warm, welcoming man. His dark hair has streaks of silver, and there is a crinkle at the edge of his eyes. His skin is sunken and loose, but the moment he smiles at her, she swears he looks twenty years younger.

"It is… nice to meet you," Jin answers in halting French.

The doctor quickly ushers them inside and closes the door behind him. He leads Jin by the arm, and by what she can smell, into the kitchen. He begins gesturing and speaking rapidly in French. Jin is only able to catch the name "Louisa", before a round woman takes her by the shoulders, and leans in to kiss both sides of her face intimately.

Immediately, Jin flushes a scarlet red. Her back ramrod straight, she can barely remembers the necessary words of greeting.

"Ah, forgive me. I forgot to teach her how the French greet their relatives," Altair interrupts smoothly, as he places a hand on her shoulder.

In actuality, he did almost nothing but "teach" her during the trip. Her blush darkens as she recalls those lessons.

Louisa tsked like a motherly hen. She immediately gestures toward the kitchen table, and begins serving Jin a delicious looking soup. She conversed rapidly in French with her husband. Gesturing once in awhile to her and then to Altair.

"What are they saying?" she leans over, whispering curiously.

A mischievous golden gleam answers her. "They wonder exactly what our relationship is."

"Oh," she tries to hide her embarrassment by sipping the steaming soup. "And what are you going to say?"

"The truth."

"And that is?"

"We are lovers."

Jin sputters. Almost spilling the spoon's content onto Altair's clothes. "What? Why would you tell them that?"

"They are your family. They deserve to know, and why would you lie to them? Are you worried about your reputation?"

"No…" Uncertainty and anxiety now paints her voice. She is not sure of how she wants to present herself to these people. But before she can formulate a clear answer, the doctor takes her by the hand, and motions for her to follow.

"Let me show you our family," Dr. Guerisse says.

The three of them enter a spacious study. Portraits hang in organized rows along the walls, and the doctor heads toward one near the window.

Jin stops a few feet in front. Her eyes widen at the painting of two figures in front of her.

There is woman, sitting on an ornate chair. Her hair is tied back in a traditional bun, but strands of flaxen hair still manages to loosen and frame her face. Her brows are thick and strong, and determination shapes her well defined chin. There is an infinite amount of kindness and patience shining from her eyes, and the way her hand goes up to hold the man's hand speaks volumes for their relationship.

Emerald green then moves onto the man. His bright, pale gaze looks directly onto the viewer. The way he smiles, with a slight crinkle of the eyes, and the deep laugh lines he has by his mouth, it all makes her want to know him more.

"That is David and Clarisse. Your mother and father," Dr. Guerisse murmurs in answer to the unasked question. Jin stares at the painting. She stares at it for so long, she begins to tremble. They look so similar to the recent vision she had. It is almost as if she had awakened from a dream, only to see them in front of her, alive and breathing and smiling. If she was to reach over, her hand would be brushing the soft cheek of her mother, and holding the strong, capable hand of her father.

"I remember…" Her voice cracks with raw emotion. Altair takes it as his cue, and excuses himself discreetly.

"My child… how hard it must have been for you." Dr. Guerisse's arms come around Jin's shaking form in a warm embrace. He soothingly pats her hair, and says, "Thank the Heavens that you have been brought back to us. You are now safe with the family. Welcome home, Jinan. Welcome home."

xxxxxxxxxxx

In March of 1199, history once again takes a sharp turn for the unexpected. King Richard the Lionheart, on a patrol around the castle Chalus, took an arrow to the shoulder. A doctor was summoned, but unfortunately the wound quickly became infected, and soon it proved fatal.

The news of King Richard's death travels like a sandstorm. In its wake, it leaves turmoil and mayhem among the people.

Altair suspects more than foul play at hand. He personally traveled to the castle, and investigated matters. The murderer was apprehended at the site. But one look at the cowering, shivering boy of fifteen tells the assassin that is not the actual killer.

So now he perches from a high beam. The warehouse is dark, damp, and cold, but he dares not move or make a sound. His prey is near.

The wooden door creaks open. A man, short and average in stature, slips in between the crack of light. The moment he shuts the door however, he feels a sudden gust of wind.

"Make a move, and I cut your throat," Altair hisses.

The man gulps. His Adam's apple glides along the cold metal of the hidden blade and sends the hairs on his nape on end.

"Your informant will not be joining us this evening," the assassin continues, "Tell me, if you value your life, who planned the murder of King Richard?"

The man shifts his eyes, and his forehead rapidly collects sweat in heavy droplets, answers hesitantly, "T'was a Templar sire. He had the c-crest. Dropped off a bag o' gold so that he may use one of the spare rooms the doctor had. And right after the k-king had the arrow removed, he left."

Altair is not surprised at his words. The king's death occurred at the most convenient timing. Not only did King Richard partially finance the Templar's activities, he had recently pardoned them of their public crimes. Now that he is seeking to take control of parts of France, an area which is mostly dominated by Templar rule, of course Gilbert Horal would turn and bite the hand which fed him.

The assassin's gaze hardens. "You speak the truth. May you find peace in the next life then."

His blade sinks into the man's spine, killing him quickly and painlessly.

_xxxxxxxxxxx_

_Brother,_

_Once again, I find our enemies lurking in every corner, planning their next move. Perhaps the news have already reached you, but King Richard is dead. The wound was not fatal, but the surgery that occurred thereafter was. I fear Templar played a hand in this incident._

_The late king was adamant about seizing the castle Chalus. My investigations revealed he is after a "treasure" that was found by a local peasant, and is being held within the fortress's walls. If Templars are involved, then there is a chance it is another Piece of Eden._

_If that is not enough, rumors spread of another Crusade. The current Pope has been preaching of taking back the Holy Land. Most of the European rulers have been ignoring him, but Theobauld III, brother of the late Henry II of Champagne, announced he will hold a jousting tournament. I suspect it will be a means to recruit men for his army and he then plans to ride for the Holy Land._

_I will stay and observe Theobauld III for awhile. But my first priority will be to find the treasure within the castle's walls._

_- A_

xxxxxxxxxx_  
_

"Good morning Altair."

The man looks up from his journey and returns the greeting amiably, "Good morning Dr. Guerisse."

"Have you eaten yet?" The genial doctor asks.

Altair puts down the ink pen down slowly. "No, but I doubt breakfast is what you are hoping to talk about."

"Smart boy," Dr. Guerisse chuckles. "I am here to talk about Jinan."

Altair nods, but stays silent. His expression is neutral, but his eyes are awake and alert.

"Thank you. Our family is very grateful for you and how you have taken care of Jinan," here the elder takes a deep, measured breath. "But I am concerned about her future."

Altair replies easily, "As am I. No doubt you already know what my position entails."

The other man inclines his head. "I support the Brotherhood and what you stand for. But what exactly is Jinan's place? What is she to you?"

Instead of answering the doctor's questions, Altair continues in the same neutral tone, "I was hoping that you would kindly extend your hospitality for Jinan… on a more permanent basis."

Dr. Guerisse stops. Takes a measured look at Altair. "You wish for her to stay?"

The assassin nods.

"That is wonderful news! I was just ready to argue tooth and nail for her. And yet, here you are, pushing her towards me. But please, do tell me why are you doing all of this?"

Altair meets his curious gaze. He sighs. Leans back in his seat and his eyes wander to the ceiling in an uncharacteristic move.

"There is no safe place for her back there. This is where she belongs," he says finally. The older gentleman can see that it took a lot for him to say those words. nods in understanding. His old, wizened hand goes across the table to pat Altair's left hand.

"You are a good man Altair. I can see that you care very deeply for my niece. May God bless you."

As the door shuts behind the aging doctor, Altair muses upon his words.

_God? Is there such an existence?_

He is already aware of The Ones Who Came Before. Powerful beings with supernatural abilities. Entities who the common people worshipped as gods, the ones who invented the Pieces of Eden.

Altair himself studied religions and pagan faiths. But he never practiced it. He was not one to believe in things he cannot see with his own eyes.

_If such a power do exist, may he please forgive me for my actions. May he look past the blood-stained hands and see the man instead. May he see this sacrifice of happiness I am about to make, though it is merely one pebble in the long stone road of repentance._

xxxxxxxxx

His dark gaze pours over Altair's most recent letter. His words are obviously in code. However, years of practice allows Malik to read and understand the message almost instantly.

Immediately, he goes and searches through his other correspondences with his other contacts in Europe. Matching dates, locations, and first person accounts, he realizes Altair is right.

A Fourth Crusade is inevitable.

Malik leans back in his chair. Closes his tired eyes.

He will be ordering more men to die. Important men who controls too much power and if left alone, will continure this senseless war upon the Holy Land.  
The ex-assassin descends the stairs. He walks by his white-robed comrades reading in library halls, he passes by the training ring, where he can see the familiar head of Nasir yearning for a peek, and eventually, his feet leads him to the entrance of the Garden.

He sees the lovely maidens beckoning to the younger trainees. Their hair a loose shining wave of black ink over their smooth shoulders. Their young, carefree faces carry a smile, and a pang of nostalgia hits him.

"You are thinking of Kadar are you not?" A soft voice speaks behind him. Malik does not have to turn to know who it is.

He avoids answering the question. Instead, he asks, "Walk with me?"

Yasmin studies him quietly. She nods, even though he does not see, and places herself besides him.

They walk silently along the marble paths. The trickling fountains and the occasional birdsong call out to him, and he wonders why the woman next to him is so unusually quiet.

Yasmin does not look at him. Her eyes always drift to the colorful, delicate flowers. Or the climbing jasmine on the gazebos. Or the blue, everlasting sky. But never at him.

"Do you remember the first time you came to the Garden?" she asks him abruptly. They have stopped in front of the tree. Jin's usual spot draws both of their gazes.

"I was with Kadar. He kept rambling on about this rare beauty he saw, whose grace and splendor transcended all words. And after seeing the object of his affection, I concluded he was just another idiot in love," Malik murmurs.

Yasmin laughs. "He was always the exaggerating one. I was quite flattered back then."

She turns to him finally. Her gentle doe eyes taking in Malik's strict, unforgiving profile. "He was like your other half. When you frowned, he laughed. You were his reason to his rashness. Without one, the other lost its reason for existence. And yet you keep on living. Strong-willed and bravely. How I wish I can take some of that strength…"

"With great power, there lies greater responsibility," Malik answers harshly. "I do not wish for you to go through what I did."

Right after he says those words, it hits him. The reason why he keeps fighting the never-ending battle. And why he sits behind the great wooden desk, dealing out death and punishment to men he has never even met and making decisions that will alter many lives.

"Thank you."

Yasmin starts at his gentle words. Malik's tone is quiet different from its usual severity. It sounds… like sincere gratitude, something she has never heard from his person. She is not sure why he is saying such things to her. And she is certain he is no longer dwelling on Kaddar. But it throws her off into the past, and she knows she does not want to dwell there.

"I hope you find the answers you are looking for," she breathes out slowly as she walks past him, returning to the lush, green Garden.

He nods at her slowly. His watchful eyes follow her as she leaves.

"I do too…" Malik sighs into the empty air.

xxxxxxxxx

_Dear Friend,_

_Sometimes it is wise to retreat and rethink strategy. I still have reliable contacts in Europe. Though not many. Now is the time recruit more men._

_Our enemies might be one step ahead of us at this time. Their influence and reach is farther, and instead of rushing in, it is wiser to take a step back and look at the bigger picture._

_I agree that another Crusade will be upon us. Even more importantly, our war with the Templars is escalating. We are no longer fighting amongst ourselves. They have dragged important political and religious factions into the battle, making it more and more difficult for us to mobilize._

_Come back to Masyaf Brother, and we shall plan our next course of action._

_Safety and Peace,_

_M_

xxxxxxxxx

An assassin never sleeps. It is when he is most vulnerable and defenseless.

There are brief hours when Altair naps, but the slightest sound wakes him. Jin is quite the opposite if he recalls correctly. Once she closes her eyes, more often than not, she will not stir again till the sunlight hits her face.

Never-the-less, Altair takes great care in entering her room from the window. The silvery moonlight shines upon her relaxed face, giving her a magical glow. He takes a moment to drink in the sight of her. He restrains himself from brushing her soft cheek, and quietly engraves her features in his mind.

He will be leaving in the hours before dawn. He will not be taking her back with him. This is where she belongs, among people who will properly take care of her and never leave her wanting more. She might be unfamiliar to them now, but given time, they will grow to accept and love her as if she had grown up in this house her entire life.

Altair lightly places a sealed envelope on the pillow next to her head. He has little hope that the words he has on paper will lessen the pain. But he cannot bear to say goodbye in person. It is just… much easier this way. Every time he had left before, even though it was for her own good, he leaves by himself. When she was not there in person, he would always wonder. Is she eating well? Taking care of herself and not getting in those messy situations?

At least, he grimly thinks, this will be the last time.

He does not say any words of endearment. He does not lean in to touch her. But Altair the man allows himself a brief moment of weakness. And feels. The pain, the passion, and the regret.

Then his mask slides back on. Not so easily this time, even with all the years of practice.

Altair carefully climbs back on the sill. He looks up. Sees the half filled moon and the glittering stars lighting up the night sky, and suddenly feels small and insignificant. With a soft sigh and a flutter of robes, he departs.

The moment she hears him landing on the ground, Jin opens her eyes.

It was true that she used to sleep heavily. But since the beginning of her trainee days, she has adopted the assassins' way of sleeping lightly.  
The moment she feels the draft from the open window, the deadly aura of a familiar presence, she knew. From that point on, it is just a matter of regulating her breathing and controlling her pulse.

Jin reaches for the envelope by her head. Moonlight streams from the window and splays across the page, lighting Altair's flowing handwriting.

_Dear Jin,_

_By the time you read this letter, I will already be in a ship heading back to Masyaf. Forgive me. I can see no other way. My life is dedicated to the Brotherhood and the war against the Templars. I can never give you the happiness you deserve nor guarantee your safety._

_You are much better off making a life for yourself here. Your new family, although alien and unfamiliar to you now, will grow to adore you. I have no doubts about it. Here, you can build your future without the threat of war and death at the doorsteps._

_I know you will not be happy about my decision. In fact, I am certain you are cursing my name as you read this. But know this: I do this for a reason._

_When you asked me what the man Altair wants, I could not answer you back then. My rationale was simple: to answer truthfully, and truth is all I give you, will be my biggest downfall. I thought if I did not voice it, it might not be true._

_But maybe it was already too late. Ever since the moment I fell through the roof and into your room, I feel as if my life was not mine to control anymore. You have become the one thing I fear losing more than my own life. Death has always been my dark companion, but with your appearance, I began to hope for something more._

_I could not go down that path. It would mean endangering your life. My enemies will undoubtedly use you to get to me, and I cannot let that happen. I would rather be separated from you than to see you harmed._

_I suppose this is what love is. What an inadequate word to describe the feeling. It is too simple and fragile a syllable, and does not hold a candle's flame to the overwhelming emotion that seizes me at moments. The years we were separated, the times that you have cried because of me, moments when I caused you pain, each was a rusty dagger nailed into my heart. I was so certain that I have controlled my emotions. That my heart does not and cannot desire another because of the assassin inside._

_Yet you prove me wrong once again._

_So go on and live well Jin. Know that your suffering is multiplied tenfold for me, because you are more important to me than the luxury of being by your side._

_Sincerely,_

_A_

xxxxxxxxxxx

The seagulls cry out their hunger in the peeping dawn. Set against the sounds of flapping white sails, with the pungent scent of the sea in his nostrils, Altair shoulders his travel pack and walks down the creaky planks at the docks.

It is not a big bag, he always make it a point to travel light. But for some reason, at that moment, the leather satchel becomes impossibly heavy. He hunches over almost like a weary, old man, the weight of his actions bearing down on him.

Even though it is early, the dock is already teeming with people. Most are sailors and fishermen, all going about in their usual business. They pay Altair no attention. A random worker bearing crates on his shoulders accidentally bumps into him.

"Hey watch it!" The weather-beaten laborer snarls as he lumbers his way through.

Altair does not bother turning. But instead stares at the ship in front of him. In a few more minutes, this ship will take him back to Syria, back to where he belongs. And away from the only person whom he truly cares for.

He wonders why the surrounding landscape lacks color. And why all his senses seem so dull.

For example, his ears are picking up muffled sounds. The peal of a bell, the yelling of sailors, and the staccato of running feet all sound far away. As if he is lost underwater. Drowning and breathless. Trapped within a dream.

Maybe if he closes his eyes, he can almost hear her voice calling his name.

"Altair!"

His mind is playing tricks on him. Her voice sounds so close, and almost frantic. Altair opens his eyes and gives himself a mental shake. There is no use dwelling on the impossible. He takes a step toward the wooden plank.

"Altair, wait!"

Now it is his eyes deceiving him. A shock of blonde hair, a familiar face weaving in and out against the crowd of workers. He swears it is an apparition, made from his hidden desires. Curiously her features are blurring the closer she gets. In fact, her shape distorts with each step she takes.

He was just about to turn away and ignore it when the "apparition" knocks into the same man with the crate, and send both of them toppling over. The woman gets up, and apologizes profusely. But she does not dwell long, and takes the last few running strides to stand in front of him.

"Hello," Jin gasps out breathlessly with her hands on her knees, "I never realized just how far of a distance the docks are by foot."

Altair stares at her in stony silence. He suddenly decides the Fates have a sick sense of humor. To send him a vision of her, such a real and convincing copy to mock him. It was too cruel.

"Altair?"

"What are you doing here?" he grinds out each syllable painfully.

Jin does not even flinch at his tone. Instead she shows him the travel pack she has in one hand and smiles brightly.

"Following you back, of course. You would think all those times you ran out on me, I would have learned your tricks by now-Are you crying?" Jin whispers the last sentence incredulously.

That would explain the earlier vision impairment, Altair ruefully thinks to himself. He takes a hand to feel his cheek, and looks down in amazement at the wetness he finds there.

"I…" He does not even get to finish his sentence as he finds the wind getting knocked out of him. He reacts just in time as Jin throws herself into his arms.

"You idiot! Remember what I told you all those years ago in Damascus? I forge my own paths in life! I give my heart to whom I choose. And they are all yours. It always has and always will be," she whispers fiercely.

His arms goes around her instinctively. His hold is strong and he buries his face into her messy, uncombed hair.

"But your family…"

"I left Uncle a letter explaining myself. That was one reason why it took me so long to get pack and chase you here. Altair… you, Nasir, Yasmin, and Malik are my family. The people here, they share blood ties with me, but my real family is back in Masyaf.," Jin looks up at him with a watery smile. Her hands immediately goes up to gently wipe away the tears on his face. "Now what are you standing here for? Home awaits, for both of us."

She draws back, takes his hand in her smaller one, and begins to lead him to the ship.

"Wait."

Altair swings her back around. Uses the momentum to seal his mouth over hers in a searing kiss. There is immediate hooting and catcalls from the surrounding sailors, but nothing reaches the couple.

"Jin," his voice is thick with emotion, "I love you. The path alongside mine will be harsh and unforgiving. But if you are still willing to go with me, know that I will spend the rest of my life ensuring your happiness."

"My happiness?" Jin arches an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"You know how you can start," she whispers for his ears only as she insistently tugs him onto deck and into their cabin. "Start by making up those years you were absent."

His possessive gaze captures her with heated amber. With a roguish grin quirking the corners of his lips, Altair answers, "As you wish."

* * *

Notes: Trying to still be as historically accurate as possible:  
- King Richard did die from an arrow wound from a guy shooting with a crossbow and frying pan. It wasn't fatal.. But the stupid doctor who couldn't treat him right resulted in an infection. … not a very glorious death for such a famous ruler I have to admit. (Ironically, the castle he was besieging has ties to Cesare Borgia later on… coincidence? I think not…)

-The Fourth Crusade did not officially start till 1204 something, but the Pope has been pushing it since 1998, and Theobald III did organize a contest, held on Nov 1199 to test the army's strength. He is incidentally Henry's younger brother. Another coincidence? .. But he also dies in 1200... But from what, I cannot imagine…

I don't know if you guys read it, but there is an official novel on Altair's adventures after the game, called The Secret Crusade. (Pretty easy to download it free off the web by the way...) I was pretty upset after reading it. Not only did it render everything I write non-canon despite my efforts to stay true to game, but it was kind of a crappy read. The author killed off main characters without much thought or explanation. And the fact Altair lives to ninety-ish is pretty much impossible for those times. Unless the Piece of Eden was responsible for that, but the author once again did not elaborate much on it. BLEH! lol Okay enough hating on that.

So now my fanfic is officially alternate universe. Oh wells. It's still a damn interesting scenario.

This is a special chapter. It can be considered an ending. And for those readers who really want a happy ending, this is a good place to stop and take the fic off of their alerts list. On the other hand, this chapter is a good jump off point for the next chapter, a chapter which I planned out scene by scene last year and could not wait to finish… But yea, for those hard core "I have to have a happy ending" people, STOP READING HERE. There, I provided plenty of warning so people will not harass me once I post the ending. lol

I don't like or believe in cliché happy endings. :P Real life has been an eye opener for me I guess. haha

Omg Revelations is coming out! :D No spoilers please….


	22. Chapter 22

I'm backkk! Sorry this took so long, this is officially my first ending to a long-term fic. I had to rewrite, sit and stare at it, and re-edit until I was satisfied with it. That and I have a full-time job now. hehe

It wasn't until I read angsty Hunger Games and listened to the equally angsty soundtracks that I was inspired to finish this. Before you guys proceed to the madness... I suggest listening to some of the tracks, esp "Kingdom Come" and "Safe and Sound" from the soundtrack as you read. It might just add the to the experience. I dunno. xD

Last warning: Not your typical fairy-tale ending.

* * *

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 22

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The day heat is heavy and humid. Jin looks up the cloudless sky, and thinks that it will rain soon.

Her hand protectively goes to her midsection, where a heavy bump sits. It is near the last month, and she knows the baby is about ready.

_She did not think she would be able to conceive again. After the first miscarriage, she never wanted to go through the pain and loss again. The poison she took should have killed her on the spot, and it was unlikely that her body did not take any lasting damage from the toxins._

_The physicians cannot explain it. The elder who specializes in herbs and medicines cannot give her an answer. Only Yasmin, with her mischievous smile, gave her an explanation._

"The power of two human in love Habibi. It can make anything happen."

_Jin laughs at her obvious teasing. But then she rethinks it, more carefully, on her own. She repeats her words to Altair as they lie half-asleep in each other's arms. _

_He does not see it as a joke. His serious gaze catches her off guard. As does his next words. _

"_I do not doubt it."_

A strong kick stirs her out of her reminiscing. As if the unborn child is demanding her attention. Jin laughs quietly.

"Yes, little one. You will be my one and only. Just wait a few more days and you can finally see the outside world," she murmurs as a hand strokes the bump affectionately.

"I will pretend I did not hear that." His deep voice is gentle, laced with playfulness, as his arms come around her shoulders.

Jin leans back. Savors the feel of his solid frame against hers. "Why? Are you jealous?"

"That the unborn child is already stealing your time and attention?" His breath tickles her ear. "Perhaps."

They stay still for a few moments. Savoring the moment's quiet, and each other's presence.

It's been almost a decade since their trip to Europe. The Fourth Crusade began and ended abruptly within the Byzantine Empire. With uncontrollable riots ravaging Constantinople, the Brotherhood can do little but retreat back to Masyaf.

Ever since then, Templars all have vanished. Malik and Altair have both agreed that this is an appropriate time to recruit and expand their influences. From the far East to remote corners of Europe, they have contacts stationed across the lands.

Every time Altair leaves for one of those recruit missions, she stays and waits. He always come back. Sometimes a bit worse for wear, sometimes appearing much older than he is. But he does comes back to her. Every time.

Jin knows that each moment might be their last. The fear, the anxiety that grips her as he rides out of Masyaf is the same. But time has been a valuable mentor.

"Why are you outside? You should go and rest."

"Beloved, can I not step out for a breath of fresh air without you following my every move?" Jin replies lightly. She chuckles at his growling response. His over-protectiveness the last few weeks would be endearing, if she does not find it slightly irritating at the same time.

She slides out of his arms. "Be at peace. I shall head back inside. You do not want to keep Nasir waiting."

He scoffs. "That child." But he smiles fondly all the same. "Mahfuz will be there if you need anything." Another one of his ideas. Having an apprentice posted by her room and keeping watch from dawn to dusk. As if she cannot go relieve herself without some sort of companion.

Jin shakes her head ruefully. She lifts her face to his, presses a light kiss against his chin, and watches as he departs for the training grounds.

She steels herself for the arduous climb back up to the bedroom. Yasmin has suggested that she share a room with her for the last month. Malik even tried ordering her to.

But she knows the baby, like his father, will want to be as close to the sky as possible.

It is a very tiring climb for Jin. She takes many breaks halfway. She is breathing heavily as she crosses the doorway, and gingerly sits down on the side of the bed.

Foreign footsteps approaches the ajar door, and she can already tell it is not Mahfuz.

Jin barely has enough time to unsheathe her short blade at her waist and block the swing of a sword. As metal clashes with metal, she takes a good look at her attacker.

"Who sent you?" she demands. An assassination attempt does not surprise her. What does catch her off guard is the familiar pair of cerulean blue that bears down on her.

"Nobody but myself," he snarls. He breaks away. Begins to circle.

Jin weighs her options. She is clearly at a disadvantage. Her room is too small. The window is too far. Her baby-

The sick realization hits her. There is not one but two lives at stake. And even if she has not neglected her training, the extra weight and obstruction might as well sealed both of their fates.

"I beg you," her voice trembles, but rings loud and clear, "spare the baby. He does not deserve death. He has not wronged you."

The assassin, who looks so painfully young, unhoods himself. The dark markings on his neck strangely resemble an angry cobra. His eyes are cold, and his words are emotionless, "I understand. I also wish to see _his_ face as I gut his offspring on my sword."

Her last thought, as their blades sing with air, are two simple words.

"Forgive me."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Altair tilts his head. He thinks he is imagining it, but he hears the sounds of a babe crying. Yet with Jin's due date still at least two weeks away, he assumes it is his recently overactive imagination.

"...did you hear me?"

He turns towards Nasir. The waif of a boy has grown up to be a tall, lean-muscled youth of fifteen. His dark hair is cut short, like all trainees, and he proudly wears the gray robes of a novice.

"My apologies. My mind was... elsewhere," Altair answers simply.

The youth snorts. Rolls his eyes. "Forget it, I can train on my own. Go. I know you cannot focus when she's due so soon."

Altair gives him a rare smile. "It seems to me you have become wise beyond your years lately. You have been working hard these days."

"Yes, there's a good reason to." An embarrassed scuff of his foot. "There's been more and more recruits. Each one a better fighter than the last. Especially the one they call "Thu'Ban". Nasir aims, and the throws a dagger at the target.

_Thunk._

"He came two years ago, and climbed from recruit to apprentice in one. I refuse to fall behind like that."

_Thunk._

The knife sinks into the straw dummy's head.

Altair listens carefully. He has heard of that name being mentioned a couple of time. But mostly in passing conversation and nothing more.

He wonders why they would name an apprentice "The Snake" as he climbs the stairs. Most people would prefer something along the lines of 'honor', 'victory', or 'sword'.

Altair reaches the top of the stairwell. He pushes open the door.

His eyes widen. Breath catches sharply.

Jin. On the floor. Surrounded by blood. A sword imbedded deep within her stomach.

Not comprehending what he is seeing, Altair takes a step. Then another. And then he rushes to her still form, leaning against the stone wall stained with crimson.

The pool of blood keeps growing. It does not stop. The wound looks fresh. Her face is deathly pale and her eyes are closed.

"No…" he chokes out.

At the sound of his voice, her eyes flutter open. He reaches for her, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Altair," she gasps out. Even through the haze of pain and darkness, she can still make out his features and those distinctive golden eyes. However, the look of anguish and panic written on his face is something she is not accustomed to seeing. "I-I was not fast enough. Nor skilled as he…"

"Who?" Altair demands roughly, his throat tightening up inexorably. "Who did this?"

"The new recruit. H-he is not actually… his n-name is Robert. Robert De Sable," Jin grits her teeth against each wave of pain. Each word is a mountain of effort to form.

Altair freezes.

Not possible. There is no way the Templar lives. He had killed his old rival with his own two hands!

Unless... His mind rushes back to the failed rescue attempt. Maria's troubled expression. Small, subtle clues that pointed to a baby's existence, and yet he chose to overlook them. He violently swears.

Jin tugs on his sleeve with the little amount of energy she has left.

"Beloved…"

There is so much blood. It keeps on coming. Seeping in between the cracks, staining his hands, and draining her of life.

"Hush, save your strength. I need to get you to the infirmary-" Altair swallows hard. His experience tells him all he needs to know. It is a fatal wound.

"Stop l-lying," she smiles sadly, "I know… I-it is too late. Listen, he t-took …the baby. Do not waste time… r-rescue our child," Her eyelids flutter shut.

He shakes her shoulders. "No! Do not give in! Jin!" He cradles her face reverently with both hands. Her blood dyes his hands crimson, leaving grotesque print marks on her face. "Stay awake… please…" he whispers hoarsely.

She struggles to remain conscious. "Beloved… remember how we first met? I was but a girl l-living in a brothel, long for freedom and a-adventure. I did not have friends, did not have a f-family, and was living in such ignorance. A-and look at me now. I have learned... experienced so many... new... wondrous things since meeting... you. I f-found friends. I-I have a... family. And…" Tears overflow from viridian depths and trickle down her ashen cheeks. "I found love."

He cannot find words to reply. He can only grip her tighter, willing her eyes to stay open.

Her last words, so soft and gentle he has trouble hearing over his pounding heartbeat, "I w-will be wa-waiting for you...in the... Garden of...Eden. " He sees the light fade away from her pained eyes, and feels her last shuddering gasp as Jin finally gives into the overwhelming exhaustion.

Dying is a surreal experience. Sounds, like Altair's voice, his anguished breaths, and what sounds like distant crying are slowly fading away. Instead of blackness, she sees flashes of light. Within them, she sees moments from the past.

The bright sun of Damascus. Mama Kathlum and the girls. White robes and an eagle feather. Blood, metal, and a fire. A beautiful tree nestled within rough crags of rock. Faces, some friendly and some not, pass by in an amazing speed before her. Yet the only face she wants to remember is not there. With desperate longing, she wishes she could still be with him.

But she knows her time is done.

Jin flies towards the light. It is warm and inviting. Familiar arms reach out and carry her in. When she finds the strength to open her eyes again, she looks upon the loving face of her mother and father. She had long forgotten what their faces looked like, and to see them once again after so many years brought tears of joy. With a cry, she embraces them tightly.

She has finally come home.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

He can hear Nasir before he sees him. The gangly youth struggles wildly against the tight hold of older assassins. His ferocity is frightening, and his peers are looking on with a mixture of awe and morbid fascination as it takes three men to restrain him.

"Unhand me! I'll murder him!" Nasir roars. His voice is already raw from yelling.

Jin's body, now long cold, lies swathed in white sheets. Yasmin hunches over her, staining the linen with uncontrollable tears. Malik is nowhere to be seen.

The assassin closes his eyes tiredly. Mentally steels himself for the confrontation. He then approaches the group.

"Altair! Finally! Tell these fools to release me at once!" There is a frantic tone in Nasir's voice that Altair has never heard it before. It almost sounds like begging. And the child has never once begged him for anything in his life.

His metal gauntlet makes a loud sound as it strikes Nasir's cheek.

"Be quiet. Take a look at yourself. See how pathetic you are, letting your emotions take control." Here the Master Assassin turns to the silent ones holding him, "Tie and lock him up. Make sure he does not leave the fortress."

Nasir can only stare at Altair in pure shock. Dismay and plain disbelief drain his face of color. And then fury erupts over his features.

"Rot in hell! Eternal damnation upon your soul you heartless bastard!"

Altair's face remains emotionless as he takes in the verbal assault. He whips around, and without a backward glance, leaves the cold halls without another word.

"Jin's dead! Murdered! How can you-" Nasir's cursing is only interrupted by a stern hand on his shoulder.

"Stop." It is Malik. His haggard face is unusually wan, and his voice strained. "You are merely wasting your breath. Take a look a closer look. Your words will not reach him."

Nasir stares at the older man with bewilderment.

"Those are the eyes of a man who has lost everything. A dead man. He will be the only one going. And he will not be coming back."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It is not hard to track the murderer down. He purposely left a trail. Taking the newborn is another way of making sure Altair will meet him alone. And on his demands.

The gray, overcast clouds yield a few drops of rain. And as Altair nears the cliff's edge, the skies erupt in tears.

Despite the thunder and pattering of rain, the frantic cries of a babe can be heard. But he does not feel anything.

No panic. No doubts. Nothing.

There is a person sitting down on a flat rock at the edge. He looks abruptly up as Altair approaches. He is wearing a novice garb, his face surprisingly youthful. But at the same time, it is a face that has seen too much in too few years. There are traces of familiar features. The strong chin, the arrogant, aristocratic nose. He sees Maria in the icy blue eyes, and he almost loses it.

Altair clenches his jaws. No more emotion.

"So you came. I knew you would." The recruit rises slowly, his hand gripping a short sword. He gestures with a careless hand. Toward the little bundle that he had the mercy of covering with a piece of cloth. A stained, bloody bed sheet.

"She will be yours. If you win. Did you... like the present I left for you?" A twisted, maniacal grin carves itself in the man child's face.

"Who are you?" Altair 's voice is cold.

The grin disappears. "Oh you did not figure it out?" A choking laugh. "But of course. You have whetted your blade on so many. My father and mother are just nameless faces in hundreds."

With a flick, Altair's hidden blade slides out. "I only ask because it is customary. I will have a name for your funeral."

Amusement lights up the youth's eyes with a dangerous glint. He also begins to brandish his weapon, slicing through the sheets of rain in graceful arcs. "If you must know," he conversationally says, as if addressing an old friend, "It is Robert. I am the son of the late Robert De Sable." When he does not see any reaction from Altair, he spits out, "Does the name mean nothing even now?"

"No," Altair's voice is more resigned than angry, "I remember." And gives no more explanation.

There is a note of hysterics in young Robert's voice. "Do you have nothing to say for yourself? I was made an orphan because of you!" Water drips off of his pointed chin. It is impossible to tell if it is actually rain.

Altair considers about telling him about his real birth mother. That she is still alive and well. And that he has brothers.

Yet with one look at him, and Altair knows there is no point. The half-crazed expression in the youth's face clearly says it all: he is beyond saving. This is a boy shaped by the sole purpose of revenge, feeding off of his own poisonous hatred.

And what was done, cannot be undone.

The two stare at each other through the curtain of pelting rain. Each waiting for the other to attack first.

The sky splits with a bolt of lightning. In the momentary blindness, Altair hears him move.

Robert's blade screeches against his metal gauntlet. Altair steps away.

The boy is fast. His body, young and well-trained for years, springs lightly into action.

Jabbing, slicing, and then eventually, cutting.

Crimson pours from a light wound on his left shoulder. Altair does not flinch.

He counters with a punch with his right fist. Connects with his stomach. Sidesteps. Aims another blow at his head, but Robert dodges.

Altair realizes he only has the upper hand in experience. If the fight drags on, his opponent will definitely have the upper hand in stamina.

The blade swings towards his midsection. Altair jumps back.

The boy knows his techniques. No doubt he has watched him spar with Nasir, and learned all his moves. And all his weaknesses.

Which means there is a simple way to defeat him.

At the next swing, young Robert aims for his legs. Already anticipating the counter, he brings a hand to his throwing knives. But instead of blocking, Altair lets him slice open his thigh.

A moment of surprise. The boy realizes too late that it was intentional.

The hidden blade buries itself in his sword hand.

He cries out in pain. Altair wrenches the blade out, and sinks it again.

Into his chest.

Crystal blue drift up to meet cold, hardened topaz.

"You-you..." Robert sputters.

For the final time, Altair closes his eyes, and enters the gray realm of the non-living. He lays the murderer down on his back.

He is so young, the assassin notes with a pang. He cannot be more than eighteen years of age. Just another pawn in a game that he has no control over.

"Be at peace. Your real mother, Maria Thrope, is alive. She resides in Acre with your two brothers." Altair swallows hard. "And... know that...you are forgiven. You did not know any better. Even the best among men committed crimes due to ignorance."

Now he is certain there are tears on Robert's face. "I-I coated my sword with a t-toxic resin. The poison," the man-child gasps out in pain, "-will kill you anyways. I n-never planned to come down... from this...forsaken mountain anyways..."

His eyes roll back. And with one last shudder, Robert's body goes limp.

There is no satisfaction. No feeling of completion upon avenging her death.

Just weary exhaustion.

Altair rolls away from the body, coming to a rest on his back. Lets the rain drip down his hood and wet his face. The creeping pain of poison is already stirring in his blood. Making his head pound and his hands shake. He examines the bleeding wound on his shoulder and leg. Perhaps if he makes haste, the apothecary will be able to mix a suitable antidote. Yet he does not find himself caring.

Instead he crawls towards the flat rock. The cries have long stopped. A small part of him listlessly wonders if the baby still lives. It is cold. The rain drenched the sheets. And it has been hours since the newborn was wrenched from the womb.

He lifts a corner of the cloth. The baby is covered in dried blood. Jin's blood. But otherwise she appears unharmed. He gently brushes a finger against her cheek.

She wakes. A shaking, pitiful wail escapes her tiny mouth.

Despite everything, all the bloodshed and heartache and hurt, a smile slowly emerges. He breathes out with relief. He looks on in silent awe as her miniscule hands instinctively latch on to his finger. Almost as if she is struggling to show just how alive she is.

The rain has stopped. A few rays of sun peep over the clouds.

The gates of Masyaf loom overhead.

He does not hear the gasps and yelling of his Brothers. Only the scuffing of his boots against the rough, paved stones as he makes his way towards the infirmary.

He smells the scent of spring. It comes from the precious treasure within his arms. And he pushes on.

When his strength finally gives out, Altair makes sure to sink down to his knees and twist his body. To not crush her with his weight.

He sees a familiar face. Someone takes the bundle from him. He is lifted from the ground.

No longer burdened with ties to this world, Altair Ibn-La'Ahad flies.

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He recalls it quite clearly. There once was an eagle. A proud, majestic thing. It built its nest on an ancient oak, by the stream. Every turn of the season, it would leave, but with the incoming spring, the same eagle would always return to its roost. That is, until a harsh winter storm, with its unforgiving blasts of wind, toppled the ageless tree. And come spring, the eagle returned, but cannot find the tree again. It could have built a new roost, in a new tree.

But it didn't.

The eagle wandered until his strength gave out and he fell dead to the ground.

_So Altair, this is what happens to the eagle when its tree has been cut down, _Malik muses sorrowfully. _Flying aimlessly with reckless abandon until your strength finally gives out. _

His eyes were dry during their funeral. Half of the ashes were buried under the soft soil of Jin's favorite tree. The other half scattered into the wind. Sometimes he finds himself gazing at it from his window office. Searching for a familiar head of blonde or an arrogant white hood.

But they are no longer there. Will never be there.

He does not venture into the Garden again.

"Malik." A soft voice behind him. He turns, and nods to Yasmin in greeting.

"Safety and peace." His voice is raspy and dry from disuse. He clears his throat, and in a more normal voice, "You have come to seek an audience with me?"

She does not reply. Merely walks up to him.

"Please, do not take offense." Her hands come up to cradle his face tenderly. "I know what it is to lose someone dear to cruel fate. Jin…" she forms the words with much effort, "Was more of a sister than a friend. But for you, who lost two loved ones, when will you take time for yourself?"

Surprise flits momentarily through Malik's sharp features. His scowl deepens. "I have no time for sentimentalities. There is chaos within the Brotherhood. This incident proves the Templars have found a way to infiltrate-"

He is interrupted by her pulling him into an embrace.

"Stop. Just stop." Her painful whisper reaches out to him. Gentle tendrils of comfort, just a few simple words, harmless really, but they manage to slip beneath the chinks of his armor. And suddenly, Malik finds himself so horribly vulnerable.

Slowly, hesitantly, his arm came around. She is so small, he realizes suddenly. Her frame is so very delicate in comparison with his tall lankiness. His head, so heavy with responsibilities and burdens, comes to rest on her slim shoulder.

The sun is shining brightly that afternoon. Birds are singing their lullabies, amidst the fragrance of jasmine flowers.

That day is when Yasmin first saw Malik al Sayf cry.

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"_Do you believe in reincarnation?" _

_A carefree wind blows freely among the flowers. The scent of blooming spring, the sky the color of blushing vanilla, and the man is holding his entire world in his arms. _

"_Living another life after death? Many philosophers do. I will believe it when I see it." His words somehow makes her laugh and he suddenly forgets to breath. _

"_Do you?"_

"_Believe? Yes… yes I do," she answers gravely. _

"_Why?"_

_She holds his scarred face within her soft fingers. Leans in until their foreheads brush against one another. _

"_Because I know. In another life, we will meet again."_

* * *

Notes: Please, please no spoilers in the reviews! Or Revelations... b/c I STILL have not played it. T_T So busy...

Final year and ages: 1208  
Jin- 35  
Altair- 43  
Nasir - 15  
Robert Jr. - 18 (Yes I did calculate/plan his age since the year he was born.)  
Yasmin -32  
Malik- 45

... alright here's my long, incoherent rant:

So I guess it was 2 years ago when I brainstormed with my beta about the ending. Our reasoning: This is mainly a story of Altair. Jin is a big chunk of his life, but what really needs to happen is for him to develop as a character and learn about his mistakes. The consequences of his actions eventually catch up to him, but the tragedy of it is that it's too late for anyone to stop it. His arrogance in Jerusalem led to Kaddar's death and Malik's injury. His ignorance and blindness led him to murder Robert De Sable even though he wasn't quite sure for what. And he had a chance to help rescue Maria's firstborn, but he chose to pursue truth (information about Templar secrets). And finally, he openly declared Jin's importance to him, allowed her to stay with him, and therefore revealing a key weakness to his enemies.

I planned to have Altair's past mistakes catch up to him. I never believed an assassin, a person who kills and uses violence, in such a dangerous time period can have a normal, long-lived life. The main struggle for Altair, ever since the beginning, was to find truth and inner peace. Truth is something he continually seeks, and it will always evade him. Inner peace is kind of what Jin provides. She's the "garden" for him, but that is also temporary. He knows he's destined for greatness, but there's always a pricetag that comes with.

That was the original intent.

However... I am a real life person, and real life events affect me. The story kind of became something else in the process of writing.

A little confession here:

Yes, there is a real life "Altair" guy I wrote about. I'm not sure, but I guess that means Jin is also modeled after myself? But not really? (Gad and I detest self-insert fics...) And I promised a happy ending if we actually got together. Which obviously didn't happen.

No worries, I'm not heart-broken or angsty about it. I actually expected that. The best part about falling in love is how that person inspire you to be better. I accomplished many things (like writing a ridiculously long fanfic haha!), pushed myself to overachieve, tried very hard to get his attention and in the process grew as a person. I am very thankful for that experience. I don't regret it at all.

The story might have turned into something of what I went though. The initial meeting. The sparks, the chemistry. The wonderful possibilities which of course becomes exaggerated in my mind and was spiced with an overly active imagination. For those very depressing chapters in 17-18, that was probably written when he did something that really upset me. It was literally like a slap in the face betrayal, and I'm very glad I could use writing as an outlet. A bit rough I agree, but I needed it.

I can understand if people are upset I killed off my main character. Honestly, Jin sorta knows that going with him most likely means dying before her time. But she chose her own path. Maybe it seems like a tragedy for the readers, but they had many years together even if I don't really write about it in detail. And the ending isn't exactly sad, I think it ends on a hopeful/bittersweet note.

It also signifies the end of one chapter and the beginning of a new life. I'm hoping the future generation will learn from Altair's past mistakes, just as I will learn from mine, and hopefully bring about a "happier" ending next time around. :']

The last scene is up to the readers' interpretation. It could be something that happened in their past, or it could be them in the Garden of Eden waiting to be reincarnated. Who knows? :P

No, I don't enjoy putting my characters through this. I can't believe I come to a point where I would write about a topic I don't like. But I feel it's necessary. And it's also probably why it took me so freaking long to work up the courage to do so. Dissect the story/ending and what you will. Give me your honest opinions and thoughts. I'm a tough girl, I can take it. And if time allows it, I'll try and reply to signed reviews. ^_^

Thank you readers, new and returning ones, especially those who took time to write reviews/pm me suggestions/and draw fanart. You guys make my day and absolutely rock.

- Malik will have happier/cooler things awaiting for him. He deserves it, that sweetie.

- Epilogue is coming, once I finalize first chapter of sequel. (Oh what? Did not go there...)

- I just realized how hard it will be for ppl to give me their feedback w/o spoiling the ending. Uh... haha get creative? Or chat it up on Twitter: Ricecooker2000


	23. Chapter 23

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Epilogue

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The sun shines brightly in Masyaf. A warm, summer breeze playfully tousles with the young adolescent's dark hair. He hopes his task does not take too long, for he longs to return to sparring with his instructor before they were interrupted. He quickens his pace.

People nod and greet him with fondness as he passes by. He replies with an easy grin, but does not slow his determined strides. They part ways for him, naturally and easy like waning tides. He makes his way through the fields of wildflowers and heads for the sole tree in the meadow. Nothing is really special about that particular tree, but his sharp gaze catches sight of his target at the base of the wizened trunk.

"I knew I will find you here," Nasir says exasperatedly as he ducks under the cool shade of the tree, "Aini why are you not at your lessons? Uncle will not be pleased."

The little girl, who is no bigger than five years of age, glances up at her older brother with her wide, inquisitive eyes.

On the left side, a deep shade of emerald, and the other, a light hazel with tints of gold.

He is perhaps the only one who does not recoil at her abnormal condition. With the exception of a few, most of Masyaf's inhabitants keep their distance from the child who has eyes of different colors. A devilish omen.

It is for this reason Aini has been personally tutored and taken care of by their adopted aunt and uncle. The only family she knows, the only place she has ever called home is nestled within the stony fortress of Masyaf. Even within the Brotherhood, her existence is only whispered and not spoken out loud. And yet, Nasir knows she will not settle for this arrangement when she grows.

Despite her young age, Aini already managers to disappear on her teacher and guardians. Especially when the time comes for lessons or chores. Whenever she pulls one of her notorious vanishing acts, Nasir is always called upon to retrieve her. Their guardian is too busy to be troubled with her antics.

More often than not, Nasir finds her sitting at her favorite napping spot at the lone tree surrounded by a field of luscious green.

"Look, it's Ummi and Abi," she says, and points off at the distance.

Nasir opens his mouth to point out her mistake. They have no parents. Have been since a long time ago. He has tried to explain to her many times before, that her parents are no longer alive, but her childlike mind cannot grasp the idea. She keeps on insisting that she sees them: either in plain daylight, or in the bloody reminiscent of her nightmares.

But today he cannot bear to correct her. Not when the sun is smiling down at them and the air so peacefully serene.

He follows her line of sight, and sees two beautiful butterflies dancing in the wind.

"The yellow and black one is Abi. The white one is Ummi," she whispers to him proudly, as if he will not understand without her help. Truth be told, he does not, but he is still willing to humor her.

"Aini, you need to go back. I am missing out on my training because of you," he admonishes her. But not sternly. No, he can never raise his voice or use force with her. She is the only one of a family he has left.

Aini does not take her captivated gaze off of the butterflies, and instead reaches for his hand.

The hopeless battle already fought and lost, Nasir lets her clutch his hand with her smaller one, and sits down next to her. She cuddles up to him, like the many times before when he gave in to her capricious whims and stayed.

"Do they look happy?" she asks him quietly.

Her brother smoothes the dark locks away from her face as he softly replies, "They are. Because they are together."

* * *

Notes: Whoa whoa, is this for realz? I haven't updated for a year and all of a sudden I come out with epilogue and ... a sequel?

So I pretty much backshelved the sequel. Due to many reasons but mainly b/c of lack of inspiration? However, I got to play Revelations and AC3 recently and I enjoyed the story and plot twists there. Out of nowhere an idea came out and grabbed me, and I had to write it down. I've definitely developed a different style of writing since the beginning of this fic, so expect something pretty different~ In the past year, I've completed a NaNoWriMo, I finished a medium length DC fanfic, and is currently looking at self-publishing my own original works. So I've definitely been writing, and I like to think my writing/planning matured a bit. With that said, please enjoy "Serpent's Apple"! (A story that will mostly follow Aini, but also the present day situation after the ending of AC 3.)

- Abi and Ummi means father and mother in Arabic. Hopefully.

- I'm well aware that different eye color is a huge Mary Sue flag. I think for that reason alone, I had to try. Challenge, accepted.

- No spoilers in the reviews please! Thank you everyone who reads and reviews, you guys make my day. If you really want to chat abt the story and what nots, feel free to hit me up on Twitter: Ricecooker2000


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